And the hits keep coming
by Mayjune1
Summary: Set after the very end of Series 11 (Non-canon AU from this point, as I didn't know how the Sam/Dean/Mary/MOL story would play out). ** How do you get through weeks in horrendous captivity, believing your brother is dead? Knowing that although the real world was saved, your own personal world has collapsed forever? It's a hell of a hit to deal with.
1. The start of a new beginning for Sam

How do you get through weeks of horrendous captivity, believing your brother is dead? Knowing that although the real world was saved, your own personal world has collapsed forever? It's a hell of a hit to deal with. But Sam's lived through this nightmare before, knows he can do it again.

Then a second hit occurs when said brother suddenly comes back from the dead to rescue you like a knight in shining armour, and the rescue attempt ends up like something out of a Shakespearean tragedy. What happens then? Hit Number 2 climbs on top of hit Number 1, they fuck like rabbits and produce hits number 3, 4 and 5. That's what.

Sam finally lit out after one too many lies.

Sure, deceit had always been embedded in the Winchester framework - rinse and repeat forgiveness was a habit they had mostly managed to make work. However, secrets and lies were like sand on a beach; they might appear to wash clean with each wave, but every time the tide went out their deepest betrayals were exposed all over again.

And the biggest secret Dean had ever kept from him was a fucking tsunami.

Sam knew that if he hadn't turned around and walked away from his brother when he did, hadn't gathered up the last remaining scrap of composure that he had left, dragged from somewhere deep, deep down inside of him, he would have ended up doing something he would regret. Something permanent and unforgivable. Something akin to what Dean had done to _him_.

Heartsick and alone, Sam ended up choosing to stay in England – several thousand miles away from the man he once called brother.

And fuck, it wasn't easy. None of it was. Everything he thought he once knew had crashed down around him in the worst possible way. Sam found himself so overwhelmed at times, it often seemed a more worthwhile use of his time to throw himself off of Blackfriars Bridge, rather than walk across it. But that old Winchester stubbornness, that sheer bloody-mindedness, forced him to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

He knew no one in London. Didn't know the lay of the land, the currency, or how difficult urban life would be to someone who had spent his entire life roaming free. At first, things appeared to be superficially similar to the stuff in the States (surely a car is a car?) then mad random moments would suddenly show him just how outside of his comfort zone he really was (what the hell is a _Robin Reliant_? People actually _drive_ that?). And, fuck me sideways (a phrase he had picked up from an East-London barmaid), he never would have believed that navigating a 'roundabout' on the wrong side of the road would be more difficult than figuring out how to gank a damn dragon.

What he _did_ know, however, was people. Particularly, how to find that _right_ kind of person that could lead him to finding another even more _wrong_ kind of person who could get him sorted with a legitimate national insurance number and a passport. Even Sam at his most fucked-up was resourceful and smart. Cause the only other thing he knew for sure, was that he wasn't going to hunt again. Just six weeks after the shit didn't only hit the hit the fan, but also liberally coated the ceiling, walls and floor, Sam found himself gainfully employed in a very un-Winchester-like job, and living in a tiny apartment (although they called them 'flats' here) in Stratford, East London.

 _ **Flashback to six weeks earlier**_

 _Mom?_

 _Wait…_ what _?_

 _Bloody, and trembling, Sam raised himself up from his cell floor. Things had been bad here, very bad, but hallucinating his dead mom was a new low._

 _Clutching at the bare concrete walls for support, he teetered over to the cell door._

 _The door was plain solid iron. A thin rectangle with a deadbolt flap was cut out at the bottom for food to pass though, and a much larger one was at head height, inlaid with some kind of clear toughened glass. Your typical, average and ordinary cell door in other words. Yeah, it had a few warding sigils inscribed on it, but the door wasn't the problem._

 _It was the lock that was the problem._

 _The lock was fused with a very specific spell. It hadn't opened once since he had been brought here. Even the main-fucking-top-boss-bitch keeping him prisoner couldn't get into his cell. The only people with the potential to be able to unlock the door from the outside was his own family. Short of blowing up the walls (and thereby killing him instantly) 'blood of my blood' was the only thing able to get him out of that room._

 _They thought their trap was so fucking clever. "Of course he will come! Who else is going to rescue you but Dean?" They said, smugly. "Who else do you have that is blood?"_

 _Didn't matter how much he cried that his brother was dead, they would not believe him. Sam was convinced he would be trapped in his cell forever, and told them so._

 _They said they knew different. He argued he knew better. He told them they were lucky that Dean was dead. That if Dean was alive he would have come for him by now, and slaughtered every last fucking one of them. They said they were happy to wait._

 _Well, they had waited three long weeks already and they still seemed quite happy._

 _Just cause they couldn't open the door, it didn't mean they couldn't fuck with him._


	2. The acclimatisation of Sam Winchester

A stranger in a strange land, Sam took advantage of everything London had to offer. He hadn't changed his name, wasn't trying too hard to keep off the radar, and yet no one knew who he was. People tended to leave offish-strangers be, and not pry too hard. No-one's ears pricked up when the tall, long-haired man with American accent asked for a latte with a toasted teacake; world-wide accents of every kind surrounded him.

The climate was ok, even for early fall (…no, _Autumn_ ). It hadn't gotten too cold so far, and the end of the summer, whilst wet, had often been warm. The variety of food took Sam by pleasant surprise, he hadn't known London was so multi-cultural; curry goat, lamb samosas, chicken shish, meat pie with mash and liquor, there was always some new culinary discovery to try. He had put weight back on since his enforced near-starvation diet nearly two months ago, but his still-lean frame could more than take it.

Was he happy? Not the right word. Still too heartbroken for that. Settled? Six weeks was too short a time for that. Putting on a brave face and making do? Yes, that was something Sam could manage – he had been doing it all his life.

During the second week of his self-inflicted expatriation, at a time when Sam was still sleeping in stolen cars and feverishly attempting to obtain money and contacts, Dean sent Castiel to find him, to talk him round. Sam politely, stiffly, thanked Castiel for everything he had ever done for him, for being a damn good friend, then told him he was done talking and to please leave. Within an hour of Castiel's visit, Sam found himself a red hot piece of wire and scarred his own stomach with the anti-angel sigil that even Lucifer couldn't go near. He was out. With a capital O.U.T. Out of that world, out of their lives, out of the total and utter shit show that was his former life.

As soon as Sam had the NI number which meant he could work and pay taxes, he used the lifelong fraud skills he had always hated to set up a detailed credit history and résumé that would pass muster. He wanted anyone who performed a background check to see everything they would expect, and nothing more.

He wasn't gonna be a job snob – any paying work would do for now, but he fell on his feet after flirting hard with a fifty-something redhead at one of the City's best recruitment agencies. Heart fluttering, Shona put him forward for a research position at a huge international bank, and the interviewer at RBUK immediately took a shine to the earnest and knowledgeable American.

Hell, Sam oozed with confidence. Of course he did. No one could study shit like him; research was a transferrable skill he could use with ease. The salary was basic, but he had been told that once he passed the six-month probationary period, it would substantially increase.

Within his first week, all the secretaries in the typing pool were in love with the polite man with the charming smile, and the other lads in the office ribbed him mercilessly for it. Normally the researchers had to copy their own work but the girls (and one guy) battled with each other to do it for him; getting one of Sam's cute grins was a big perk of the job.

Normalcy became the new normal. Work, home, pub. Work, home, pub. No blood. No stabbings, shootings, burning or any other weird shit (although the first thing he did in his new 'flat' was draw a devil's trap underneath the door mat, and superglue salt lines at every window).

The routine was healing. Gradually he began to feel less like he was drowning; instead could feel pale sunlight on his skin and he did all he could to turn his face towards the warmth.

 _ **Flashback to six weeks earlier**_

 _Sam stood, swaying, in front of the door. He leant forward, hands leaving bloody prints on the metal either side of the window, the tip of his nose touching the glass. Winchester blood didn't flip the switch from this side, no matter how much you threw at it. He had tried more than once._

 _The vision of his mom stepped back from the window, stepped back from_ him _, a shocked look on her face. Sam knew he must look a terrible sight…like something out of a horror film. So he smiled. It was nice to see her face, even if it wasn't real._

 _He tried to peer through the glass, to look around her to see if she was alone, to see if anyone was behind her, but the corridor was too dark._

 _Mary Winchester took a tentative step towards the door again and Sam immediately slammed his palm against the glass. He knew from experience that no matter how loud he shouted he couldn't be heard from outside the door unless 'they' wanted him to. Once he had her stopped in her tracks again, he dipped a finger into the gash on his side and began to write in mirror-speak on the glass. His backwards, her forwards._

 **TRAP**

 _But his mom, lips pursed determinedly, raised a knife in preparation to cut her palm open, ready to hold her blood to the lock and break the spell. Sam shook his head angrily at her, shouted futilely at her. Didn't she care this was a trap? That he wouldn't be able to live with himself being the cause of his mother's death again?_

 _Wait… Again…?_

 _Fuck! What was he thinking? She wasn't really here anyway - she was just a hallucination!_

 _The blood loss, dehydration and sleep deprivation was messing with his mind. They say familiarity breeds contempt, and he was intimately familiar with sleep loss and hallucinations. Contempt? Downright fucked-off venomous_ anger _was what he felt at being forced to undergo these particular tortures again, even if they weren't as horrific as his past Hallucifer visitations._

 _The food, water and sleep they allowed him was highly rationed (to the point of being barely there) and the sharp, pointy stabby creature that they kept sending in through his food tray wasn't helping either. He was cut to pieces thanks to that little fucker. The slashes were plentiful, and a few of them were deep. None of them had gotten infected so far, but it was just a matter of time as he had no water to wash with, and no clean place to hide._

 _He didn't even know what Little Fucker looked like; they only sent it into him after they turned the light off, but he pictured it in his mind as a mean looking tribble, with spikes instead of fluff. It was super-fast too, and he hadn't been able to come close to catching it before it zoomed back out of the food flap after causing bloody chaos._

 _Weak, thirsty and unable to stomach the sight of the hallucination any longer, Sam was beginning to sadly turn away from the door, when he heard the unmistakeable voice of his brother shouting blue murder and mayhem from the corridor outside._


	3. Small talk

The first rule of bus stops is that no one talks at bus stops.

Except for when it rains, of course. Which was quite frequently, as it turned out.

Waiting for a bus in the rain seemed to bring out some random conversations. All it took was a bit of wet weather, a back log of traffic and the normally reserved brits chatted away to each other like they were best buddies.

On his way to work each morning he would often see the same people waiting for the same bus at the same time, and a typical conversation would be something like:

"This bloody weather. Can you see for me love…is the bus going to be long?" one old lady would ask, peering at the electronic display at the end of the bus shelter.

"Which bus, ma'am?" He would ask politely.

"D8. Tsk…" She would tut and shake her head that he didn't automatically know where she was headed off too that day.

"I'm on that one too…it says 9 more minutes." Sam would hope that the conversation would end there. But no. These things almost always carried on.

"What do you think of this rain eh? Gets worse every year. Global warming, it's a disgrace."

Sam would nod politely, put his hands in his overcoat pockets and make a show of looking for his Oyster card.

"And you would think the busses would hurry up a bit when it's pissing down, get us poor sods out of the rain? Look at this queue. Disgraceful."

Sam, not wanting to argue that perhaps busses shouldn't speed up in the wet, would cough awkwardly and attempt to turn away. Then, invariably, either the homeless man who drank a can of Special Brew every morning, or the young mum with a baby in a stroller would join in. "And there won't be any room on the bus when it gets here. Rush hour's fucking joke".

"Too right" agreed the old woman. "The bloody money we pay for this service is a disgrace..."

Sam would step out of the conversation at his point, and look around for Lara. She always seemed to know when Sam had enough social awkwardness for one morning and would swoop down to save him. He had only known her a couple of weeks, and they only ever saw each other at this particular bus stop, but he looked forward to their morning talk.

It was still only light superficial chit-chat; forgot my umbrella, tubes on strike next week, that sort of thing. But she had a smile that was so warm and friendly, he forgot for a few short moments how lonely he was. And she had such soft hair. He had accidentally brushed against it once as they got on a crowded bus, and since then he felt like a total pervert for having to force himself to not reach out and touch it again. Lara seemed close to his age and worked at the same building at Canada Square, although around 30 floors above him for a different firm.

They first got chatting when Special Brew man's dog knocked her arm, and she dropped her bus pass under a taxi. The cabbie wouldn't move so she could get it, and Sam ended up arguing with the asshole until he moved his cab. She had laughed as he picked up her sopping wet Oyster card, and thanked him for being so chivalrous as he flapped it about in the wind, to try and dry it off.

They always sat next to each other on the bus, but the intimacy of being squashed next to someone on a crowded space was awkward, and they didn't really speak except to say 'bye' as they went their separate ways. Their names, and where they worked, was all they really knew about each other – for all he knew she was married with three kids, but something inside of him wasn't ready yet to get close to someone again, and he wasn't ready to ask her any personal questions.

For now, the brief bus stop meetings were enough.

 _ **Flashback to six weeks earlier**_

 _Dean?_

 _How could that be Dean's voice? – his brother was dead…. Jesus, the ghosts of Christmas past were really coming back to haunt him. He giggled that he had no imaginary salt to sprinkle on his imaginary family. He turned back to the window to see his brother arguing furiously with his mom._

 _Fuck, this was weird. His head span and he laughed again. Hysteria was beginning to set it in, and it actually felt ok to lose it a bit._

 _Their argument was gibberish, it made no sense to Sam._

 _Mary (angry): "You know I need to do this Dean!"_

 _Dean (frustrated): "And you also know it's a blood lock!"_

 _Mary (quietly): "I'm family Dean. That has to count for SOMETHING!"_

 _Dean (still frustrated): And if it was ME in that cell, it would. But it won't work for Sam. You know that!"_

 _Mary (angry again): "It WILL. I have to try and save him!"_

 _Dean (at the end of his tether): "You know I'm the only person who can open that door. So let me through mom!"_

 _Sam watched as his mom and his brother tried to push each other out of the way of his cell door. He couldn't have imagined a more bizarre sight to hallucinate if he tried. He could see that Dean wasn't trying to hurt his mom at all, so Mary quickly got the upper hand and shoved Dean on his ass._

 _It took Mary no time at all to slash at the palm of her hand and grab the door handle._

 _Nothing happened._

 _Of course it didn't. Mary wasn't really there in the first place. It hurt Sam though, to see her face screw up in pain at failure. She looked devastated. Then the expression on her face turned darker, and Sam grew scared._

 _Mary turned her hard expression to Dean, still on the floor._

 _Dean (confused): "Mom...what are you…?"_

 _Mary (softly): "I love you Dean. I love you both. Remember that."_

 _Sam couldn't believe what he was seeing. He watched dazedly as his mom lashed out with a boot, and kicked Dean sharply in the head, knocking him out cold. She knelt down over her eldest son, and cut his arm deeply, deep enough to cup a large handful of his blood in her gashed fist._

 _Calmly, steadily she stood up and faced Sam._

" _I love you Sammy. I always have and I always will." She reached out and grasped the door handle with her bloody palm. Immediately there was a flash so bright that Sam's retinas burned, and he turned away instinctively._

 _When he looked back up, spots blurring his vision, the door was gone and so was his mom._


	4. The storm after the calm

**Present day**

Early mornings in London seemed particularly beautiful in October. Trees still had their leaves, although instead of green they were now every shade of crimson and gold. Red foxes were everywhere, snuffling and rooting through garbage bins before the homeowners were fully awake. The air was starting to get noticeably cooler, although when the sunrise broke through the inky clouds you could still feel the last of the year's warmth. Autumn was definitely here, and Sam was looking forward to spending a quieter Halloween in a country that didn't celebrate ghosts, witches and werewolves quite as fervently as the States did.

Sam had been up since 6am. First for a run around the pretty rough back streets of Stratford (although West Ham's London Stadium was impressive), then home for a quick shower and change into his suit before heading down to the bus stop. The D8 stop was right inside Stratford's busy transport hub, with overground and underground trains making the area heavily populated at rush hour. Sam had tried the commute to Canary Wharf a few different ways, but preferred the bus, even though it was a few minutes slower; he got to see more of London that way, and he liked dropping into Westfield sometimes to pick up shopping. It totally wasn't because of Lara.

The ten-minute walk from Sam's flat was peaceful and pleasant, and the bus stop wasn't crowded as usual. In fact, only Lara was there, wrapped up warmly in a smart grey coat and black trouser suit. She smiled as he approached, and made a joke of shuffling up the empty bench so he could sit down next to her.

"Morning Sam…where the hell is everyone today?" She spoke with what he now recognised as an East-London accent, and definitely not the Queen's English.

He absolutely hated to compare the two, but Lara had a similar accent to Crowley's. Her softness and warmth, though, took her as far away from Crowley as night was to day. And, not that he'd given it much thought or anything, but sometimes in the mornings when her hair was still very slightly wet she smelled faintly of vanilla and cocoa butter. Whereas the King of Hell, for all his fancy lotions and aftershaves, managed to stink of dried demon piss.

"Morning Lara. I have no idea...Is today some kind of public holiday I don't know about?"

"Oh god I wish." Lara said, stretching out her legs and arms. "I'm not a morning person at all and my bed is still calling to me."

"In that case…allow me to help. One Latte, two brown sugars as requested." Sam dug into a paper bag, handed over a large purple Costa cup, then pulled out one of his own.

"Sam, you really didn't have to!" She looked surprised, but gratefully took the paper cup from him.

"A bet is a bet, and you won." He crumpled up the empty bag and tossed it into a nearby bin. "Hey, if you feel too guilty you could always pick one up for me tomorrow…"

Lara laughed and raised her cup up to his as a salute. "You've got yourself a deal." She drank a gulp, and Sam chuckled inside at the happy slurpy noise that she was totally unaware she was making. "It wasn't a fair bet though. I must know way more about English pop music than you do."

Sam shrugged. "Hey, I took that bet didn't I? And just because I'm American, doesn't mean I'm _completely_ uncultured. We have Adele over there too, you know…"

As Lara went to answer, her eyes suddenly widened at something behind him and a hand flew to her mouth in shock. At the same time, Sam heard a short, high squeal of brakes followed by an almighty crash. Sam spun in his seat to see a large UPS delivery truck had been rear ended by a green Land Rover just twenty yards up the road from where they were standing.

His fists clenched and pulse spiked from the reactive fight or flight instinct. He no longer carried a knife or a gun around with him – which was probably a very good thing - he would have just instinctively drawn a weapon on this busy London street without even thinking about it. He forced his hands to relax when he saw both drivers emerge unharmed from their vehicles and start shouting at each other. For a second, just for that small moment, he had been hurled into the mindset of his previous life and he didn't like it.

The UPS van had been shunted into the centre of the lane, was completely blocking the road, and by the looks of it wasn't going anywhere, anytime soon. Cars began to U-turn as others behind them impatiently sounded their horns as if it would make a difference. The bus was never gonna get through.

Sam knew for sure that he was going to be late in to work when he saw the Land Rover driver stick two fingers up at the delivery driver and saunter off down the road without a care in the world, leaving his half mangled car at the scene of the accident.

"What the hell…?" Sam said out loud. One or two other bystanders who had also witnessed the accident rolled their eyes at the attitude of the driver, but then carried on about their business as if this were normal.

"Is he drunk or something?" Lara stood up, and kicked a black suede boot against the council garbage can. "Shit. Fucking double shit. You know this means we have to hang around and wait for the police - we are the closest witnesses. _Fuck_ , I really needed to get to work on time today."

"Should I get after him?" Sam didn't want to get involved but was prepared to give chase if he had to.

Lara stared at him. "Hell no! The guy is obviously a prick. If the UPS man aint bothered enough to go get him, no reason you should be."

Sam looked back to see the delivery driver laughing and calling out ' _you stupid tosser you're going on You Tube_ ', as he pulled out his cell phone to film the other guy casually strolling down the road.

"Just a typical Thursday in Newham. Crazy-crazy."

"How do you want to play this?" Sam asked. "If you need to get off to work, I'll wait and speak to the cops?"

"You're a gentleman Sam, but no. I've got a better idea, seeing as I've got to be in work double urgent, and I'm sure you don't need to be late either…" Lara quickly walked over to the UPS driver, who had stopped recording the man after he had turned out of sight around a corner. Sam got up from the bench and half-jogged to catch up with her.

"Hi! Just wanted to let you know that my friend and I saw the whole thing – totally not your fault by the way. But, we haven't got time to hang around. Can you give these to the police and if they need to get our statements they can call us?" She handed Sam one of her business cards to pass to the driver, and told him to fish out one of his own. He glanced at hers as he passed them on. _Lara Whitmore, Technical Manager, IT Solutions_. At least he knew her last name now, and what she did. Sort of.

Lara finished chatting with the driver as Sam put his wallet back inside his jacket pocket, then looked up at him. "Shall we…?" she asked, cocking her head away from the scene of the collision.

"Let's go" said Sam. It was an automatic assumption that they would get on the underground together, and Sam was taking a liking to their fledgling whatever-this-was. He fought the urge to take her hand in his as they went to turn away.

Instead, three men stepped out the back of a black cab that had been halfway through making a U-turn behind the UPS van. From around a foot away they very discretely raised small semi-automatics in such a manner that only Sam and Lara would notice them. Sam's blood went cold. Instinctively, he put his much taller frame in front of Lara and pulled her to a stop behind him. He accidentally knocked her coffee cup out of her hand, then purposely dropped his own to free up a hand. A hand that had no weapons available to it.

 _ **Flashback to six weeks earlier**_

 _Sam fell forwards, straight through the empty doorway. He landed face first, chin hitting the ground and wrists snapping backwards as he tried, and failed in his weak state, to catch his fall._

 _The air in the corridor had bitter, ozone-y tang to it, which was far better than the smell he had become accustomed to inside his cell._

 _He was so confused. He had absolutely no idea what was going on. He knew he was smart, could work situations out fast, but this baffled him utterly. So when he crawled over to his unconscious brother's body, he hesitated before reaching out. How would he feel when the illusion disappeared and his hand went straight through thin air? How would he feel if it didn't?_

 _The decision was taken out of his hands, literally, as Dean began to mumble, vaguely opened one eye, and grabbed hold of Sam with a loose fist._

" _D…Dean?" Sam didn't mean to, but hot tears sprang from his eyes. He felt ill, delirious._

 _Dean seemed to come back to himself with a start, and sat up sharply. "Sammy, where's mom…?"_

 _Sam rolled over onto his back, didn't bother wiping away the tears that were running into his hair._

" _Mom's dead Dean. Same as you. Same as me, probably." Sam slurred, drunkenly._

 _Dean half-stood, dragging Sam by his shoulders to rest upright against one of the walls. He looked his brother in the eye, and mustered every last bit of gung-ho, super fierce, big brother awesomeness he could muster. "You listen to me Sam, and you listen good. I know you've been through a lot, that you are all kinds of fucked up. But you have to believe me when I say I'm not dead. I'm really not."_

 _Sam reached out and briefly rested a hand against Dean's cheek, before dropping it back onto his lap. "You're bleeding" was all he could say._

 _Dean glanced down at his arm and scowled, hard. "It's nothing." He looked back at Sam and pressed his fingers urgently into Sam's shoulders. "I need you to tell me now Sam, where's mom?"_

" _You mean the mom-lucination I just had? She cut you, then disappeared in a magical bright light when she opened my cell door. Kicked you good and hard tho'." Sam reached up again, and touched a bump the size of a marble on the side of Dean's head. Dean didn't even wince. Just sat down heavily next to his brother, bent knees touching his forehead._

 _They sat like that for a small eternity before Dean finally stood, grabbed a firm hold of his bloodied and bruised brother and pulled him upright._

" _Let's get out of here."_


	5. Taxi for Sam Winchester

Sam's shoulder muscles locked tight, as details and scenarios filtered through his mind. The UPS driver was sitting in his van, likely on the phone to the police, and hadn't noticed a thing. The men from the taxi were furtive, had timed their appearance when no other people were passing. This whole incident, including the presumably staged distraction crash by the Land Rover, was highly professional.

The question was, were they human, monster or something else? The only thing he knew for sure was that these men could have gunned them down when their backs were turned, but didn't. This wasn't a hit dressed up as a drive-by – they _wanted_ something from him.

Or from Lara.

Just because the fate of the world had literally revolved around him before (more than once, in fact), Sam wasn't arrogant enough to assume that this was definitely about him. He knew nothing about Lara – for all he knew this could be the result of an angry ex-husband, or even an actual husband's actions. Or something else entirely.

A big bald guy in his mid-fifties, wearing blue jeans and a bulky dark jacket quietly motioned for them to get into the black taxi. Sam gripped Lara behind him, and stayed where he was, silent and stubborn.

"Don't play games with me." The man's voice was hard, his accent a lot rougher than Lara's. "Get in the cab." If Sam had to guess, he would say the guy was former army, gone to seed slightly around the middle, but still all aggression and muscle.

"No." Sam stood straighter as he felt Lara's hand clutch his more tightly. He squeezed her hand back in a silent _trust me_ gesture. "We're leaving." He pushed Lara back slightly and slowly took a step back himself.

The other two men, one skinny with a craggy smokers face, the other with a similar build and look to Baldie (except a good foot shorter) stared at Sam almost without blinking. The lead man briefly glanced up and down the street.

"So you're a gambler then? I'll make a note of that. Better to know these things now, rather than later."

"I'm not going anywhere with you. You need to know _that_." Sam wasn't going to let himself get taken by anyone. Not ever again. Absolute determination was written all over his body language.

Eyes slightly narrower than they were before, Baldie gritted his teeth as a noisy group of foreign backpackers emerged from the station behind them. "Mr Winchester, Ms Whitmore, I haven't got all day. Get your arses in the cab please, chop-fucking-chop."

There was an audible intake of breath from behind him, at the mention of Lara's name. Sam squeezed her hand and quietly, urgently, asked her "Do you know him? Do you know what he wants?"

Lara whispered back, hot breath in his ear. Her voice was high pitched and fast. "Don't know what's going on _Sam what's happening_?"

He retreated further, gently pushing Lara with him. "Look, we're NOT going with you. Just get back into your cab and leave. I'm guessing you don't want to cause a scene, but believe me, in about ten seconds time that's exactly what you're gonna get if you don't leave us the hell alone."

This guy was obviously used to people being intimidated from the get-go, and Sam saw a change in guy's attitude at his refusal to back down. He had clearly hoped waving a big scary gun in Sam and Lara's faces would be enough to get the job done easy-peasy.

Baldie hissed theatrically, changing tactic. "Go on then high roller. Put your money where your mouth is, and start kicking-off then." He nudged the guy next to him with his elbow. "I wanna see this. Five extra points if he uses jazz hands as he squeals for someone to call the Old Bill..."

Sam's eyes furrowed in confusion. Was he really happy to call Sam's bluff when the cops were surely only minutes away, and there were plenty of witnesses around?

Baldie read Sam's face. "Sunshine, keeping this hush-hush is the preferred option. But it aint the only option."

Still managing to keep his weapon discrete, he turned the nose of the handgun towards the tourists who had wandered further on up the street. "Let's double or nothing. Make a drama and I'll speed up Brexit by emptying my entire clip into that bunch of foreigners." He ignored Sam's grimace. "You see that brunette with the purple bag? She looks like my sister-in-law. Don't she Archie?" Baldie jerked a head at his shorter doppelganger.

"Yeh, she looks like my missus." Archie agreed.

"I fucking hate my sister-in-law."

"We all fucking hate her Bill." Archie spat.

"So, the lookalike-bitch goes down first. I'll send a condolence note to her family, and someone at the funeral can read it out. I'll put something like _'your dearest favourite person died choking up blood 'cause Sam Winchester backed the wrong horse'_." He paused for effect. "However…if you just get in the fucking cab I can guaran-fucking-tee you that no one will get hurt today. Including you." Bill sarcastically drew a little cross shape over his heart.

Frustration coursed through Sam's body, biting like caustic acid. He absolutely did not want to get in that cab; the further down the rabbit hole they travelled, the harder it would be to escape. The prospect of re-living a horrendous situation like the one a few months ago, and even worse – this time having Lara in that situation with him, set his blood on fire.

But equally, he _had_ to do the right thing by the group of innocent tourists who weren't even aware that their lives were being bargained with. Sam WAS a gambler. He had betted and wagered with the best of them his entire life. And in his heart, he knew he wasn't going to call this Bill's bluff and have a woman die because of him.

Sam let go of Lara's hot, sweaty hand and turned to face her. He almost put his fingers up to her hair, wanting feeling its softness, wanting to brush a stray lock behind one of her ears. Instead he rested them on her arm, taking in her shocked stare and rapid breathing. "I am so…Lara…I…" He couldn't even choke out a proper apology to her, he was so furious. He briefly looked up at the heavens, knowing they were absolutely no fucking help _at all_ , then turned to face the man whose throat he wanted to rip out.

"Who are you _Bill_?" Sam asked.

"Need to fucking know, mate." Was the curt reply.

" _What_ are you?"

Bill looked at him, puzzled.

"Never mind" said Sam. "If I agree to go with you, Lara stays behind." He had to at least try.

"No deal. Sorry sunshine but Love's Young Dream comes too."

Lara stepped up alongside Sam before he could stop her. She looked so confused, and panic was thick in her voice. "Hang on…wait…do I get a say in any of this?"

"Course you do luv" said Bill. "You say, ' _I'm gonna get in the taxi now cause I don't want some poor mare's death on my conscience_ '. Right?"

Bill might have been a psycho but Lara wasn't. She didn't resist as Sam took hold of her clammy palm again. With the decision made, time slowed down for a heartbeat. A cold breeze picked up, rifled through his hair. Leaves rustled noisily against the pavement.

Bill held the door open for them as they got into the cab.

 _ **Flashback to six weeks previously**_

 _With the smell of fresh air in his nose, and the warm summer sun on his face, Sam took a moment of peace before falling into Dean's rental car._

 _It had taken nearly fifteen minutes of Sam stumbling over his own legs, not to mention the bloodied bodies of his former captors, for Dean to drag him away from his cell and up through the posh boutique hotel above. Sam was freaked to think that people might have been sleeping, eating, even making love above him whilst he was trapped and tortured in the subterranean hell below. They hadn't come across any hotel guests during their exit, and no other cars were parked in the lot, so maybe the British Men of Letters had rented the entire hotel during his captivity. It would have cost them a fortune. Or maybe they owned it in the first place? Probably made better sense – after all it did have an all-purpose torture chamber built into the foundations._

 _Whatever. He was just happy to be out of their clutches. He felt no remorse at their brutal passing; in his shattered, fevered state, his main regret was that he hadn't had the chance to exact his revenge personally. And, that he never got to find out what Little Fucker was and then stomp it to bits. His right foot ached at the thought of crumbling the fucking thing under his boot._

 _Dean had the air-conditioning on full, but Sam cracked open a window enjoying the warm breeze against his forehead. Dean didn't argue like he would normally have – Sam knew he stank like re-heated sewage. He closed his eyes, not yet wanting to have the conversation with Dean about how the hell he survived the whole God and Amara shit show, and what the whole mom illusion-thing was about. Before that, he needed food, sleep, a ridiculously hot shower and some good painkillers. Possibly even antibiotics. Not necessarily in that order, but all of them as soon as possible._

 _As the cathartic sound of tyres on tarmac rumbled on, he slumped against the passenger door of the rented Nissan Juke, trying to hide hot tears that took him by surprise. His emotions were all messed up – and probably would be for quite a while. Dean, however, had the intense focus of a lion chasing down a kill as he drove on the wrong side of the road, driving stick, only speaking to refer to the inbuilt sat-nav as 'a crappy piece of shit'. Falling into their old habit, Sam dozed weakly letting Dean do his silent brooding thing, until they finally pulled up outside a B &B in an area named Hammersmith. _

_Sam's muscles had stiffened up badly during the two-hour ride, and embarrassingly Dean had to help him out of the car and walk him into the B &B like he was a frail old man. There was a small bunch of down and out looking men in the lobby and Sam, with his filthy clothes and unkempt hair fit right in. One of guys nodded a 'hey' at Dean, did a double take at the state of his arm, then turned back to whatever paperwork he was attacking. The hotel had the vibe of a homeless hostel rather than a tourist place. Everything, including the carpet, walls and elevator button was slightly sticky and had a grimy sheen to it. Dean pulled a room key from his jeans pocket and fiddled with it as they waited for the grumbling lift to descend. _

" _Nice digs," said Sam. "You been here long?"_

" _Couple weeks. We..." Dean stopped his sentence short and stabbed at the elevator button a couple more times. Sam left it alone; Dean was radiating a quiet anger that Sam recognised, but was just too tired to deal with._

 _Up four floors, and third door on the right, Dean seemed hesitant to turn the key in the lock. His jaw clenched before making the decision to open it. Sam stumbled in behind his brother in time to see Dean slam shut an interconnecting door to the next room. Sam leant heavily against the short hallway wall, studying Dean's masklike face._

" _Damn lock is busted. I keep asking for it to be fixed, but no one's ever got the time." He went over to an unmade bed and picked up a large towel. "First things first, let's get you into the shower while I go grab some takeout. My nose can't take it anymore – you smell like an abattoir died and got buried at a manure farm." Dean stepped around him and opened the bathroom door. "It's pretty basic in here but nothing we aint used to, eh Sammy?"_

 _Hearing Dean call him Sammy, something he had truly believed would never happen again, brought a fresh round of tears. It seemed to catch out Dean too, and he grabbed Sam into a fierce hug that lasted a good minute. "I am just so damn relieved to find you." was Dean's explanation, even though none was needed._

 _Dean went over to a window saying he needed to air out the room, but in reality to take a second to compose himself. Sam buried his face into the towel until he was sure he had regained his emotions, then began slowly stripping off his blood and filth encrusted clothes. The same clothes that he had been wearing since his abduction. Some of the t-shirt material had actually become embedded inside the scabbed up wounds on his back, and they ripped open as he pulled it off. Dean was over in a flash assessing the slashes that covered his back, torso, arms and thighs. "Who the fuck did this to you Sammy? Let me know so that I can kill them all over again…"_

" _Wasn't a person. Was a tribble."_

" _A what..?"_

" _Never mind Dean. I'm ok. I just…I need a shower then you can patch me up if you have to. Go get us some food, please. I think I might literally be starving to death here…"_

 _Dean, already concerned at Sam's skinny frame, was up like a shot. "Give it 15 minutes Sam, and you will be eating some of the best chicken noodle soup ever. I'm not even kidding. The Chinese on the corner looks like a total dive but the food is amazing…"_

" _Your arm is cut to shit Dean, at least wrap it up properly before you go..." Dean was out of the hotel room before Sam even finished his sentence._

 _The room was tiny. Two single beds, a small desk under the even smaller open window and a musty wardrobe riddled with holes made up the entire room. Empty beer bottles and cartons of takeout covered the surface of the desk. Sam took a two-step detour on the way to the small bathroom and tried to open the interconnecting door. It was locked tight. A lock-picking kit was definitely somewhere to be found in this room, but his pathetically feeble hands were shaking too much right now to even consider it._

 _So with the mystery to be returned to at a later date, Sam headed on towards what was probably the most needed shower of his life._


	6. The hard truth

Authors note: Firstly, thanks to everyone who has reviewed! Secondly, I have lived with the bones of this story in my head for a really, really long time (long before I thought to apply it to 3 Sam Winchester), so rest assured I know exactly where its headed and how it ends. Love you all #SPNfamily !

 **The hard truth**

They were pushed to the floor of the black cab, with the fold-out seats closed behind them. Bill, Archie and the nameless clone sat comfortably above them, legs outstretched, forcing Sam and Lara to scrunch up. The door locks clicked shut as the cab moved off, and Bill threw a pair of metal handcuffs at Sam telling him to cuff his right wrist to Lara's right wrist. Small mercies, at least Sam could put them on without them biting tightly. Being told to wear the semi-expected cuffs didn't freak him out; he still had one hand free and knew he could get out of them fairly easily. Lara, on the other hand, looked like she might throw up. Her cheeks were tinged a pale shade of green and were damp with cold sweat. With the hard floor vibrating beneath him, his long legs bent up uncomfortably, and the potential threat of vomit filling the cab, Sam really hoped this wasn't going to be a long journey.

"Can you open the window a bit?" Sam looked up at Bill's hard face. "Come on man, I think Lara could use some air." Bill took in Lara's obvious nausea and opened his window a few inches.

"Hey, its ok." Sam soothed. "Just breathe, c'mon." Lara's eyes were wide. Light brown with flecks of green, Sam gazed into them as he spent the next few minutes whispering softly to her, trying to talk her down from shock. Their captors left him to it, not interfering in Sam's ministrations; the men were on high alert throughout the journey, their attention on the streets around them.

From his low vantage point, Sam had no idea where they were headed. He sat stiffly as the taxi wove through the London streets. As Lara was on his left-hand side, his shackled right arm was pulled tightly across his own body, wrapping his overcoat against him. The heating vents pumped out hot air; even with the window open his back was soon soaked with sweat. Lara curled her knees up to her chest, hugging them as if she was cold, face and long messy hair buried against her legs.

Sam gnawed the inside of his lip, contemplating how best to take the three men down (four if you included the taxi driver) if the right circumstances presented themselves. He could probably beat them in a fair fight, or even a dirty fight, given the opportunity. However, whether he could do it without Lara ending up as collateral damage was another story. There was no wedding ring on her finger, no indentation to indicate she had ever worn one. That didn't mean she didn't have a significant other. She'd never mentioned a family. That didn't mean she didn't have kids, or a mother and a father and friends who loved her. He didn't know any of the people in her life, yet the weight all of those counting on him to keep her safe was substantial enough to keep him toeing the line. And that, of course, was why they brought her with.

He passed the time wondering how long it would be before someone noticed they were missing. He couldn't guess at Lara's personal circumstances, but obviously work colleagues would notice they weren't in today. How long would it take for Freddie, his line manager, to speak to HR? How early before HR rang him to find out why he hadn't called in? Tomorrow was Friday, would they leave it until after the weekend? He was still new at the bank, still early on in his probation. They might just assume he had quit without telling them. The way he had set his new life up, he could disappear without a trace, and no one would know he was missing. He thought it was just what he had wanted…but _now?_ maybe not so much.

After around twenty uncomfortable, sweaty, minutes, and just as his right arm and both legs had gone to sleep, the cab slowed and Sam saw a tall concrete housing block looming above them.

The men began to shift around, and Bill pulled out his cell phone. The cab stopped directly outside the main entrance to the tower block and Archie opened the cab door, mercifully letting in cold air. Lara finally looked up, lines of tension etched into a grimace. He understood exactly what was going through her mind, because those thoughts were his too.

"Lara, I swear I won't let anything happen to you." He knew it sounded pathetic, but as he gripped hold of her arm he meant it, absolutely. Then _shit_ …memories of promises he had made in the past, the faces of people that he had let down, that had _died_ because of him and the life he had led, surfaced. Sure, he had done good things along the way, but the list of the dead affected him deeply, and it was crazy long. It started with Jess; impossibly young and so long ago. Ended with Charlie...god, poor _Charlie_. His mom…well, he just wasn't going there – it was too mentally damaging. His fingers trembled. He looked down, saw the not particularly faded scars on the back of his hand that Little Fucker had left him with just a couple of months ago. Saw how tightly _he_ was clinging onto _Lara's_ arm, not the other way around.

She saw it too.

"Oh, so you can promise that can you?" The desperate note in her voice wasn't _quite_ scorn. Close enough, though.

"I don't even _know_ you, you're just some bloke I met at a bus stop! You say pretty words, and you act like I should trust you even though I've only known you for three minutes, but as far as I'm concerned this is all BECAUSE of you."

Visibly distressed, she pulled herself away from Sam as far as the handcuffs would allow. "This sure as shit aint anything to do with me! I'm just a normal person who goes to work, comes home and doesn't trouble anyone. An unpaid parking ticket is probably the worst thing I've ever done. But you? You act like this all this…" she angrily gestured around her "…is normal, like getting abducted is just an everyday thing! You keep telling me that everything's gonna be ok, that you'll look after me. Why? _How_? _Who the hell are you_?"

She was frightened and angry, lashing out. Sam understood that, but the truth of her words squirmed around inside Sam's belly like a diseased parasite. She was absolutely right. If he hadn't struck up a friendship with her, hadn't tried to pretend he was an ordinary vanilla civilian, Lara would be living her normal, safe day instead of being handcuffed to a stranger, rightly terrified that she was about to get raped and murdered.

He looked away from her, guilt eating him alive. By intent or not, Sam had officially taken this woman's life and flushed it down the toilet. What the hell had ever made him think he could escape who, or what, he was? He'd never managed to do it back home, why should London be any different?

He was cursed. He would _always_ be cursed. Shit like this was always going to happen to him – but it was his attempt at playing 'Mr Normal' by chatting up a pretty woman at a bus stop that had directly contributed to her abduction. Well in that case, _fuck_ being a civilian. It was now up to the _real_ Sam Winchester, the definitely 'Mr NOT Normal', to get her out of this.

Anyone who knew Sam, knew him _well_ , would have noticed the subtle shift in his expression. The jaw clenching slightly, the green and amber eyes faintly narrowing. And it would have acted as a warning. But Bill confidently interrupted his introspection, leaning down towards them like the cat that got the cream. "If you two wanna continue your bust-up, you can carry it on inside for all I care, better than watching the telly. But for now, till we get up there, BEHAVE YOURSELVES." It was an order that left no question it was to be obeyed. "If you'd like to follow me….."

Sam's quiet demeanour as he climbed out of the taxi was mistaken for obedient compliance. He forced himself to ignore the shooting pins and needles that rushed through his numb arm and legs. To ignore Lara as she stumbled and trembled as they entered the building. Instead he was taking note of exactly where they were, whilst showing no signs of doing so. A signboard forty yards away, covered in graffiti and air rifle pellet holes showed they were on a housing project named Greenfield. _Surely a joke, considering there wasn't a single field around; everything in sight was concrete._ The name of the building, its outline once embedded into the external render but long since removed, looked like the word Marchant.

Knowing where he was would make all the difference. First, he was going to find out what the hell these assholes wanted him for. Then, if he somehow couldn't find a way out of this on his own, he would get the angel warding off of his stomach. And hope against hope that Castiel had his ears on.

Payback for ripping Sam Winchester out of his numb, quiet life was going to be a bitch.

 _ **Flashback time**_

 _The litre bottle of water he had drunk in the car hadn't been enough to abate his dehydration, so Sam turned his head up to the shower, letting as much water flow into his mouth, as around him. It didn't matter that it was warm…it was wet, clean and copious. For the first time in weeks, Sam felt like an actual, living human being as he stepped out of the tiny cubicle, wrapping the towel around his waist. He squeezed the worst of the wetness out of his long hair, then let it drip dry, enjoying the feeling of fresh water against his shoulders. After being matted with dried blood and ick for so long, it had taken some hard scrubbing and several mini-bars of soap before his hair, and body, finally felt sanitary._

 _He found another towel hanging against a rail, and dabbed at his torso attempting to avoid any of the open wounds, especially the larger one at his waist. He was bleeding from so many re-opened scratches and gashes that the towel stained pink within seconds. He gave up the pointless job and just wrapped it around his shoulders like a blanket._

 _His brother was already back in the room, opening cartons and making space by clearing the old ones onto the floor with a sweep of his arm. Sam frowned, Dean still hadn't wrapped up the cut to his tricep. As messed up as Sam was, it was perfectly obvious that Dean wasn't acting like himself. Hadn't been this entire time. Something huge had happened whilst he had been gone, but Sam didn't have the emotional strength yet to fully face it._

" _Hey Dean, let me take a look at that arm?"_

" _It's fine Sammy, I'm fine. Let's eat first, then I'll patch you up, take a shower and sort myself out while you sleep eh?" Dean's larger-than-life smile was fake, and the look behind his eyes was desperate. Sam copied the grin automatically, the way he always had done ever since they were kids and he didn't want to rock the boat with his older brother._

" _Sure, ok dude. Sounds like a plan."_

 _After so long without anything hot or even good to eat, the extra-large tub of soup was like liquid morphine. Sam could feel the warmth enveloping his shrunken stomach. The noodles were strands of heaven and the large pieces of chicken were soft and tasty._

" _Told you Sammy, didn't I?" Dean proudly nodded and grinned, like he had donned the chef's hat and coat and made it fresh himself. "Finish that, then you can chow down on some Chow Mein." He smirked at his little play on words. "We need to build you back up, get you good and strong again." Dean sucked at a cold beer and picked at some prawn crackers as he watched his brother eat._

 _Sam managed three-quarters of the bowl before his eyes started closing. "Dean, sorry man the food's great but I'm wiped. I gotta get some sleep now, before I fall down. Save the rest for me for later?"_

 _Dean heard the slur in Sam's voice, knew there was no point in forcing Sam to eat any more. "Yeah, yeah." Dean rummaged under his bed and pulled out Sam's duffel. "Just get your PJ's on for now and I'll take a look at all your boo-boo's and ouchies later."_

 _Head swimming with fatigue, Sam had no witty retort. Instead, he dragged on whatever boxers and t-shirt were nearest the top of the bag. He had meant to lay out the towel out over the sheets to catch any blood stains, but the soporific effects of a hot shower, comfort food and the relief of knowing his big brother was safe and alive overtook him too hard and fast. He was asleep before he could even pull the cool sheets over him._


	7. Inside the tower block

Broken and stained tiles decorated the lobby walls. The concrete floor must have soaked up vast quantities of urine and vomit over the years; the acrid smell permeated the small space like mustard gas. The ground floor lobby was just wide enough to house a staircase and two elevators. One of the elevators had a magnetic 'Out of Order' sign stuck onto a door, and yellow DO NOT USE tape covered the call button. Bill lifted the tape out of the way and pressed the button. The doors opened immediately.

"Private lift…goes straight to the penthouse" he chuckled. He stepped inside, and motioned for Sam and Lara to follow, with Archie and Bill's mini-clone squeezing in behind them. It was a tight fit; the small elevator just about allowed all five of them inside with no personal space to spare. Sam guided Lara into a corner, and shielded her as best he could so that none of their captors would be able to press up against her. Captain America he wasn't. Attempting to take out three armed men in an elevator whilst handcuffed to a terrified civilian would not work out well for either of them.

Bill pressed button 15, and the elevator slowly creaked and groaned upwards. It was claustrophobic to say the least, and the maybe fifty seconds they spent trapped together in that warm box stretched on for an eternity. Sam could smell his own sweat, as well as the other men around him. Lara kept her eyes closed during the ride up. Finally, the elevator gave a lurching judder, before coming to a stop. The doors opened and the last two men in were the first two out, heading right, followed by Sam, Lara and Bill. As soon as they were out of the elevator, Archie lit up a cigarette and sucked on it so deeply, his cheeks collapsed inwards like an inverse cartoon chipmonk. Sam had never seen anyone so desperate for a cigarette. Bill shot Archie a filthy look and Archie hurried forwards, keeping the smoke away from Bill.

There was a wide window just outside the elevator area. The view of the city at this height was breath-taking. Although Sam worked on the 18th floor at Canary Wharf, his work area was at the core of the building so he didn't get to see much of a view. Here, a bright sunny London stretched out for miles ahead, busses and cars looking like miniature toys far below. Lara had also stopped by the window and only moved away when Sam reluctantly pulled her onwards.

Passing through the corridor, dirt and grit crunched underfoot. Three doorframes had no doors hanging in them at all, giving Sam a brief glimpse of dark, unlived in rooms as they walked past. The fourth doorway, however, had a proper door; dark blue wood with the number 154 crudely brushed on in white paint. It opened just as they approached and a skinny teenage boy stepped back to let them all in. Mini-clone gave the kid's slicked-back hair a ruffle as they walked past him and the boy scowled and whined "fuck off Gavin". Mini-clone – Gavin – laughed and pretended to punch the boy in the stomach. "Stick the kettle on Alfie" he said, as he closed the front door behind him with the sole of his boot.

The narrow hallway opened up into a compact open plan kitchen and living room. The flat looked exactly as unloved as Sam had expected; this was no one's home – just a temporary residing place. A large stained sofa took up most of one wall, with a 50 inch TV taking up most of another. Sky Sports was showing a replay of last night's Premier League match. A couple of miss-matched chairs were scattered around with ash trays, beer cans and take out cartons littering the floor. No windows were open, the heavy green curtains were firmly closed and the room smelled of cigarettes, sweat and stale booze.

Archie smiled toothily and held out a hand. "Phones please…wallets an' that too." His voice was rough. "And your handbag, love." Small mercies – Sam and Lara weren't invited to sit on the dodgy sofa – as soon as they had handed over their worldly goods to Archie, they were led onwards by Bill.

Leading off the living room was another hallway with three doors. The first was a bathroom that looked – and smelled – like it got a hammering from guys who only drank beer and ate takeout, and had never picked up a bottle of disinfectant in their lives.

A second door revealed a bedroom with nothing in it but a single bed and sleeping bag. It looked like the kind of room where the guys might take it in turn to sleep.

The third door had all kinds of locks and bolts attached to it, and Bill motioned for Sam and Lara to step inside. Maybe 20 feet square, it wasn't as small as Sam was expecting. Lit by a single bare lightbulb hanging down from the ceiling, the glass windows had been removed and replaced with plywood, making the room dark and fairly cold. Wind whistled in through the gaps. The floor was carpeted, but probably about fifteen years ago. The entire flat, including this room didn't appear to have ever been vacuumed. To their right, just behind them was a kind of en-suite. It was more like a door-less cupboard with a toilet and small sink. A couple of Morrison's plastic bags were propped up in the far left hand corner of the bedroom, stuffed with what looked like cheap snacks. In front of them and slightly to their right, a double mattress lay on the floor and just above it, a horizontal chrome rail was bolted to the wall. That's when Lara freaked out.

Sam didn't blame her. Bill, however, had no sympathy. As Lara started to back out of the room, swearing and flailing her uncuffed arm around, Bill grabbed her wrist and twisted it back, forcing her to her knees. He grabbed her by the hair and shouted directly into her face, spittle flying. "CALM THE FUCK DOWN OR I'LL REALLY GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO SCREAM ABOUT." His face was red, and his eyes were screwed up in anger. A vein pulsed rapidly near the top of his bald head. Without hesitation, Sam reached down and, with his left arm, pulled Lara back slightly, placing as much of himself as he could between them. Bill let go of Lara's hair, so Sam dragged her back further, until she was resting against a wall, hyperventilating and crying.

He turned to face Bill, mirroring his angry expression. "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? Can't you see she's terrified? Let's get one thing clear right now – if you hurt touch her again, you and I are going to have a SERIOUS problem." Bill could obviously tell he meant it, and Sam could see him weighing up which way to go. Unfortunately, the decision wasn't particularly great. Bill punched Sam in the face, hard. It split his lip and knocked his head backwards into Lara's face. Bill reached under Sam's dripping chin, and grabbed his jaw, turning Sam's head to face his. "My question to you, Sam, is why aren't YOU terrified? I've brought a fuck-load of people up to the pleasuredome and even the biggest and strongest of men have been shit scared. But you? You act like this is any old Thursday. I don't know what's going on with you Sunshine, but I'll get to the bottom of it…I got time."

Sam was breathing angrily out of his nose as his mouth filled up with blood from the cut lip. He debated about whether to spit it onto Bill, but decided against antagonising him further. He didn't want Bill taking anything out on Lara. He just stared hard at Bill instead, until he let go of Sam's jaw. Sam turned and spat on the floor.

It was a long, tense moment. It's not that Sam wasn't scared, it was just that he'd been in many, many worse situations than this. It was all relative. Which was very fucked up. Bill's surprise at Sam's calm demeanour meant he can't have known his background, which made the situation more bizarre. Why would someone kidnap Sam Winchester if they didn't know who he was?

Manliness confidently reasserted, Bill got up, knees creaking, and headed toward the door. "I'm going to have my tea. Be back in a bit. In the meantime, you two enjoy your stay". The door closed softly, bolts thudding shut from the outside.

Three-quarters of the tension in the room left when Bill did. Sam brought up his left coat sleeve up to the cut on his lip, and studied Lara as he gingerly dabbed at it. Her right cheekbone was puffy from Sam's accidental headbutt. "Can you get up, come into the bathroom?" He asked. "I want to get something cold on your face, help with the swelling."

"He's right you know." Her eyes were wet, but she had stopped crying. She seemed calmer. It must have been a huge relief that Bill had left them alone, and that she wasn't chained up to the wall.

"What?" Sam asked. "How?"

"Why ARE you so calm? Has something like this happened to you before?"

Sam took a moment to answer. The room was cold and the sweat on his back was drying fast. He was now glad the overcoat had stayed on. He sat down beside her, back against the wall.

"Honestly? Yes, I've been in this kind of…situation before. More than once." He glanced around the room checking for cameras, but didn't see anything obvious. He did, however, notice another scuffed chrome bar attached to the ceiling above them. "My life has been…we'll call it, um…' _interesting'_. Yeah, _interesting_." He lifted his cuffed right hand up and rubbed at the scars on his left hand. The old one on his palm, and the newer ones on the back of his fingers.

Lara pursed her lips, but didn't pull her hand back. "I think I deserve slightly more of an explanation than 'interesting'."

"Yes, you do." He nodded, and a lock of hair fell in front of his face. He shook it away. "I'll tell you everything you want to know, even though you won't believe me – but not until I know for sure that no-one else is listening."

"Are you like, some kind of spy? Or a hit-man?"

Sam laughed, genuinely and loudly. The adrenaline rush was beginning to wear off and the shakes would set in soon. For both of them.

"Sorry…I'm not laughing at you Lara. That's…that's just funny. I'm not a spy, I promise. Not a hit man either. I'm just an ordinary guy but…well, I haven't exactly led an ordinary life. Like, _ever_." Sam turned serious. "But I left all that behind me. At least, I thought I had. I was done with all that, totally and utterly done." The brief humor had left him, replaced by waves of sadness.

They sat silently for a while, listening to the wind howl against the makeshift windows. The blood dripping from his lip had slowed down, but his grey coat was now completely ruined.

Lara shifted uneasily, and gave a quiet cough, pulling Sam out of a long-ago memory of a day at Skull Cemetery.

"Sam? _Shit_ …Sam, I really need to erm…"

"What?" Sam looked at her concerned.

Lara gave a small huff. "…I need to have a wee."

Sam blushed. "Oh! Ok…" He stood, and held a hand out to Lara to escort her up.

She stretched out her cramped legs and stepped hesitantly towards the tiny bathroom. "I don't know how the hell I'm gonna do this with one hand." She looked up embarrassed.

"I won't look, I swear it." Sam was just as uncomfortable. He stood as far around the corner of the wall as their handcuffs would allow and tried to ignore it when his fingers accidentally brushed against her bare skin by accident as she shuffled and squirmed in the small room. Being cuffed right hand to right hand, whilst wearing heavy winter coats turned every action into a major challenge.

"At least there's toilet roll!" She called out, with false cheer. Since being left alone – and out of Bill's company - some of the Lara he recognised began to surface. Awkwardly she finished up then flushed. Sam waited until she pulled her trousers back up before moving away from the wall so she could wash her hands.

"Hey Lara…whilst we are here…I may as well go too." They traded places and Sam finished up as quickly as he could.

With that out of the way, Sam wadded up two lots of toilet paper and ran it under the cold faucet. He gave one to Lara to press to her cheek, and used the other on his lip. They walked around the surprisingly clean-ish mattress (only one or two stains, Sam noted), and rummaged through the supermarket shopping bags. Looking at the food they had been provided with Sam hoped their stay wasn't going to be a long one – there was nothing but potato chips, protein bars and candy in the bags.

"No way can I face anything at the moment, but I always said I could live on nothing but chocolate." Lara half-joked.

Sam then spent fifteen minutes (with Lara forced to follow along), walking around the room, studying everything he could. The door was firmly locked, and the plyboard over the windows was secure. They were fifteen floors up, anyhow, so it wasn't like they could slip out of the window. He checked everywhere he could reach for cameras or microphones, but couldn't see any obvious ones. Most importantly though, there was no sign of any angel warding. He rubbed at his belly and wondered what he could use to obliterate the sigil on his stomach. He needed something sharp that could cut through his scar tissue.

He went back through the room again, this time looking closely for anything that would do the job. Old rusty metal wasn't exactly ideal for cutting yourself, but Sam puffed his cheeks out with relief when he found a nail that wasn't too firmly fixed against the boarded-up window. He worked at it for five minutes before it came free, then shoved it into his trouser pocket. It was thin enough that he could have used it to release their handcuffs, but he didn't want to alert Bill to anything suspicious just yet.

Sam was growing increasingly certain that Bill and his crew weren't clued up about Winchester history, or the supernatural world. If that _was_ the case, then Sam definitely had an advantage over them. When the time was right, and if he couldn't get them out of this on his own, he would call Castiel. Imagine Bill coming face to face with a pissed off Angel! With his short fuse and probable high blood pressure, he would probably stroke out in shock.

Cas wasn't the type to hold a grudge but Sam felt shitty at the way he had dismissed his friend the last time they spoke, only to now reach out to him for help. He felt guilty at the thought of using his friend that way. And if Cas _did_ come to their rescue, would he bring Dean with him? The thought was enough to bring Sam out into a cold sweat. He wasn't ready to face Dean, in fact - he wasn't sure he would ever be ready to face him again. He hadn't forgiven him. Would _never_ forgive him.

No, calling Cas would be a last resort, and even then only to keep Lara safe. She was priority one. Talking to Bill, finding out exactly who he was and what he wanted was priority two. Anything else was too far down the list to worry about right now.

Neither of them wanted to go near the mattress, so they sat back down on the floor by the bathroom. With nothing to do, nervous energy began to creep back in. Sam looked at his watch and was surprised to see it was still early – not even lunch time yet.

"Lara, I need to ask. How long before anyone notices you're missing? And how long before they might call the police?"

"They already know I'm missing." She breathed out heavily. "My manager knows the only way I would have missed this morning's meeting was if something pretty fucking catastrophic had happened. My phone's on silent but I bet I have at least twenty missed calls on it."

Sam turned to face her, hope in his eyes. "Well that's great! If the cops trace your phone they'll know where to find you! It was still on when we got here, and they may be able to find its last location even if that Archie guy switches it off."

"It depends if they do call the police straight away. Samantha, my manager, might send someone over to my flat first to see if I'm ok. She's not just my manager, she's a friend and she'd want to check on me. I don't think she'll report me missing until she's spoken to a few of our other friends, and then maybe my parents." She looked at him. "She might even call my Ex."

He kept his voice steady. "Ex?"

"Yeah. James. We broke up about a month ago. We were together for quite a while and tho' Samantha knows there's no chance I'll get back with him, she might ring him anyway. They're friends – its kinda how we met."

"Why did you break up?"

"Whooo – long story." She stretched out her legs and waggled her feet in a circular motion, trying to get the blood flowing. "Short version is, I wanted to get more serious, he didn't. My mum keeps on nagging me to settle down, have kids and all that. I thought maybe James might be the one. But no – he's thirty on the outside, thirteen on the inside. Anyway, changing the subject - what about you, Sam?"

"Are you asking me if I'm with someone, or if someone's gonna report me missing…?"

"Um…both? No. No, I'm asking if someone will report you missing…"

"It's no to both questions. I've not been in my job long enough for anyone to notice me missing. I've only been in the UK a couple of months, and haven't really made any proper friends yet. Maybe the barman at my local might notice I'm not around, but that's about it."

Lara began to fidget. "So what you're saying is, we are kind of fucked. That we are going to be here all day…all night even?" She looked at him wretchedly, tears suddenly springing into her eyes. "I don't want to be here Sam. I'm..I'm scared and I want to go home."

Sam's heart lurched; he wanted so desperately to help her. He was immediately appalled at how selfish he was being by not calling Cas straight away to get her rescued. Just because Bill had left them alone for the moment, didn't mean he wouldn't be coming back…and soon. That bar next to the bed was there for a _reason_.

Fuck this shit; Sam decided to get that nail out of his pocket _now_.

And with the terrible, awful luck that had screwed up so much of Sam's life, Bill chose that moment to throw back the bolts and saunter into the room.

Long chapter this – so flashback to follow in the next chapter.


	8. Flashback chapter

_**Flashback time**_ _(as promised at the end of the last chapter!)_

 _Sam awoke with a start, heart pounding. The room was dark, and for a moment he was back in his_ _cell with Little Fucker. He had been dreaming that the evil son of a bitch had somehow crawled down inside his throat and was ripping his guts out. Panic and nausea subsided when he felt soft bedding gripped between his palms, and noticed the thin orange glow from streetlamps below the hotel window. A burst of relief escaped his lips, and he pushed his hair away from his forehead, wiping away beads of sweat._

 _Sam was still tired, groggy more than anything, but his bladder began cursing at him to get up and make a visit to the bathroom. Fumbling around in the dark, dry-mouthed and sore, Sam flipped the switch on a small table lamp next to his bed. Dean's bed was rumpled but empty._

 _"Dean?" He called out loudly in case his brother's bladder had had the same idea as his. He slowly stood up, every muscle in his body aching. He was mildly shocked at the amount of blood that had stained the sheets as he had slept. The bedding, plus his fresh t-shirt and boxers, looked like something out of a horror movie. Hobbling across the bedroom, he opened the door to the bathroom, saw it was empty. He relieved himself then washed his hands, which re-opened some of the deeper cuts to the back of his fingers. He needed stitches just about everywhere, but they would have to wait until later. His brother could sew like a pro. In the meantime, he found a clean-ish toothbrush glass and gulped down as much water as he could. Then borrowed Dean's toothbrush and cleaned his teeth; something he hadn't done in weeks. He took his time, enjoying the sensation while it lasted._

 _Minty-fresh and somewhat hydrated, Sam clutched the sides of the small basin, staring at his bloodshot eyes in the mirror. How long had he slept? Now that he thought about it, he had no idea what time he crashed after eating yesterday. It had definitely been daylight, but that was all he knew for sure._

 _Stepping back into the bedroom he dug through his duffel bag and pulled out a spare cell phone. Chilly from only wearing t-shirt and boxers, Sam carefully dragged on socks and a hoodie as he waited for the phone to boot up. The time flashed on as 4:29 am. He dialled Dean's number, but hung up when Dean's phone started to vibrate on the side table next to his bed._ What the hell?

 _Head still feeling like it was stuffed with nothing but cotton wool and violent dreams, Sam snuggled back down under his sheets, turning to face his brother's bed as he had done so many times in their lives._

Dean's duffel bag was stuffed under his bed.

 _Knowing Dean would be totally pissed if he found out Sam was snooping - but currently all out of giving a shit, Sam got back out of bed and carefully went through the bag looking for any clue as to what was going on inside his brother's head. It was hard at first; trying to avoid dripping blood onto any of Dean's stuff made the job slow going. So he found some band-aids and wrapped several of them around his fingers to keep them clean. Then decided to apply some self-adhesive bandages to the worst of the cuts on his torso and thighs while he was at it._

 _Turned out the snooping was a bust - there was nothing in Dean's bag to indicate where he currently was, or what was going on. Underwear, a couple of knives, cash, various pills of the illegal and legal sort; nothing unusual. Sam dry swallowed two of the painkillers and two antibiotic tablets, shoving the remainder of the packs in his hoodie pocket._

 _He pushed Dean's bag back under the bed, but kept hold of a lock picking set. Something strange was going on behind that inter-connecting door and now was the time to find out, before his brother got back from whatever club or pub he was at._

 _Feeling weird at possibly crashing into someone else's room half dressed, Sam pulled on jeans and boots. For all he knew, someone else had checked in whilst he had slept, and he could be about to surprise some unsuspecting couple. The blood-stained t-shirt felt itchy, but he'd have another shower later then let Dean stitch him up before changing into cleaner clothes. Quiet as a mouse, he picked the lock and softly swung the door open._

 _Luckily for him, the room was empty, so he flicked on a light to better look around. The bed was made, but messily, not up to house cleaning standards. No bags or cases were apparent, and Sam took all of two seconds to see the small wardrobe was empty. There was no sign that anyone was staying in the room. Had he made a mistake? Maybe the door did keep opening by accident, as Dean had said yesterday, but the lock seemed pretty firmly closed just now. And the look on Dean's face as he slammed that door shut definitely told a story. Sam needed to know what that story was._

 _As the room contained no other useful clues, Sam went into the bathroom. It had a faint smell of strawberry shampoo, but any bottles or lotions had been removed. A few strands of long blonde hair were trapped in the plug hole, but they could have belonged to anyone. With only one place left to look before admitting defeat, Sam pulled out a small wicker garbage bin from underneath the basin. There wasn't much in there; empty crumpled packaging for a face cream, and some tissues used as lipstick blotters._

 _A woman had stayed here last – no question. If it was just some hook-up of Dean's then why would she be staying in a separate room? And why would Dean try to hide it? Still holding one of the lipstick stained tissues, Sam was deep in thought as sat down on the closed toilet seat. There were too few clues to go on. He would have to ask Dean, but if his brother didn't want to talk about whatever had gone on in Sam's absence, there wasn't much he could do about it._

 _"What ya doing Sammy?" Dean was standing in the bathroom doorway. Swaying gently, voice thick with alcohol, his green eyes glittered with suspicion. Sam was treading on rocky ground here - he knew that Dean could be at his most sober – and dangerous – whilst drunk._

 _"Where's Cas?" Sam tried changing the subject._

 _"Off doing whatever it is Cas does." Dean wasn't going to be that easily dissuaded. "I said, what are you doing in here, Sammy?"_

 _Sam stood up, and went to push past his brother. Dean held out a hand, raised the palm to Sam's chest. "Uh uh. Nope little brother. What you doing in here? Spill…"_

 _"Just like you said Dean, the busted door opened up again whilst I was asleep. I got up for a piss, but curiosity got the better of me, I guess." Sam was pleased at his quick thinking – especially as his brain was still woollen. Now Dean either had to go back on a previous lie, or accept Sam's version of the truth._

 _Dean raised an eyebrow. "So why's my lock-picking case on the floor outside the open door then huh?"_

Ah, shit. _Sam had no answer. He puffed out heavily and sat back down on the toilet seat. "Ok. You got me. Who stayed in this room Dean?"_

 _Dean's voice grew angry. "I'm the one asking the questions here – why'd you break into this room?"_

 _"Because something's going on with you and I wanted to know what!"_

 _"So you went behind my back instead of just asking me?"_

 _"Yesterday was too overwhelming to get into it. And you weren't here when I woke up. So yeah, I went snooping. I'm sorry Dean, but I didn't know where you were and I saw an opportunity to find out, without having to rake up whatever's obviously eating you up from the inside out. You're hurting Dean, and you need to tell me why!"_

 _For a moment, Sam thought his brother was actually going to talk. His eyes softened and he opened his mouth a fraction. Then the moment passed. Dean turned on his heels and loudly, but unsteadily, marched back into their room. Sam hobbled behind him. "Dean!"_

 _Dean was screwing the top off of a bottle of Tesco's own brand whiskey. "So that's your answer to everything_ , again. _Drown yourself in the cheapest bottle of whatever crap you can find instead of telling me what's happened…"_

 _"Oh for fucks sake Sam, you're not my wife. You don't like my drinking then fucking leave…"_

 _Sam pulled the bottle out of Dean's hand, and drank deeply, enjoying the raw burn against his sore throat. Then shoved it back to his brother. "Seriously Dean? It's not about the drink! It's about you not talking to me!" He sat down heavily on his bed. "I'm tired in every way a person can be. I've spent the last three weeks being starved, tortured…and the worst part of it all, the very worst part was that I thought you were dead. But you're not! Against all the odds, you're wonderfully, amazingly alive. And three-quarters broken…"_

 _"Sam…" Dean's eyes were wet. But he still couldn't bring himself to bare his soul. So Sam gave his brother a break._

 _"Ok. It's ok man. Tell me whenever you're ready." Sam smiled, as he held out the olive branch. "Just don't expect me to ignore my instincts and not investigate an intriguingly mysterious door…"_

 _Dean raised up his chin, scratched roughly at the stubble underneath it. "Let's go get breakfast."_


	9. And so it begins

As Sam yanked his left hand out of his trouser suit pocket, the nail snagged on the shiny inner material and slipped away from him, landing on the carpet. _Shit!_ Quickly, he flicked it behind him with the tips of his fingers so no one would notice it. That nail was his and Lara's lifeline and he couldn't afford for it to be found and taken away.

He needn't have bothered worrying, Bill wasn't suspicious in the least. "Up up up!" He gestured using a hand-gun, as Archie and Gavin followed him into the bedroom. It appeared that now their captors had all been fed and watered, the real business was about to begin.

Using each other as support, Sam and Lara stood up, keeping their backs to the wall. Lara shriveled as deeply into it as possible. Gavin came forward and unlocked their handcuffs. It was a relief to have his arm finally free, but he worried it meant separating from Lara. And to his horror, that was exactly what happened.

She screamed as she was dragged towards the mattress, and struggled in terror as her grey coat and black suit jacket were removed, and both wrists were handcuffed to the metal bar. Once on the mattress she lay rigid and very still, as if any movement on her part might trigger what could come next. Her long hair had fallen across her face, but the patches he could see were pale and sweaty. Sam would have ripped his own hands off if meant he could somehow get to her. As soon as she was secure, Gavin and Archie stood and prepared to face an angry Sam Winchester.

During Lara's struggles, Bill had kept his gun aimed at her the whole time, whilst raising one finger to Sam as a warning what might happen if he interfered. Bill still kept his aim on her, to ensure Sam's compliance as Gavin now took off Sam's heavy overcoat and blue suit jacket, dropping them on the floor in a heap. He re-handcuffed Sam's wrists and used a long thin chain to secure them to the chrome bar on the ceiling. Arms raised above his head, his fingertips brushing the ceiling, he breathed heavily with frustration. Sam's lip had opened up again, and blood began to drip over his white shirt. Gavin took a firm hold of Sam's dark grey tie with both hands and stared at him for a good long moment, the look in his eyes saying ' _I could strangle you right now if I wanted to and there would be nothing you could do about it'_ before loosening it and removing it from around his neck. His breath, smelling like onion and kebab meat, turned Sam's stomach. Gavin then stepped back out of the way, to allow Bill to have a clear view to do his thing.

Bill handed over the gun to Archie (who continued its aim at Lara), and pulled out a cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans.

"I'm gonna make a call in a bit. Whilst on that call, I want your complete and utter compliance. Failure to comply will result in serious consequences. Do you understand what I'm saying here, Sam?"

Of course Sam understood. He nodded, a hard lump of nausea at the back of his throat stopping him speaking directly to the asshole in front of him. Bill nodded back then jerked a thumb at Gavin. "But before I make that call, I have a couple of minor preparations to make which Gavin here will help me out with."

Gavin stepped over to Lara, and gripped her by her hair with one hand. With the other hand, he quickly punched her in the face. Blood began to flow freely from her nose, and she cried out in pain and shock. Sam also roared in anger, cursing a blue streak. Gavin kept the tight grip on her hair, forcing her head upright so that as much blood as possible coated her pale yellow blouse. It made no sense to Sam – hitting Lara when both she and Sam were complying, whilst they were bound and helpless, was despicable.

Only once Lara's face was coated in blood and tears did he turn to Sam. He didn't take any time to gloat, he just started beating Sam around the face until he was bleeding enough to his satisfaction. Painful cuts to Sam's lip, nose and eyebrow bled profusely, and he had to spit and shake his head several times to get his breath and vision back.

Gavin waited until Sam could see again, before using the grey silk tie to clean his knuckles. As he wiped them clean he went back over to Lara, and crouched over her menacingly. He pulled out a kitchen knife from a back pocket and held it to Lara's throat. Time seemed to stop, and all Sam could hear was his heartbeat thumping in his throat until Bill spoke up. "Ok! So, the players are all set, it's time to roll the dice." He selected a contact on his cell phone and put the call on loud speaker so everyone could hear the ringing. The tone suggested an overseas call, and it wasn't answered after ten or so rings. Bill shrugged, and tried again. This time, after five or so more rings, the call was answered.

" _What the hell?_ Its like 6am! Whoever you are you better have a damn good reason for calling me this early, or I'll come find you and shove your phone up your ass!"

Sam jerked back against his chains in shock, at the sound of his brother's voice. He snarled at Bill, literally spitting blood. " _What the fuck do you think you're playing at…?_ "

Bill motioned for him to keep quiet, using just one finger against his lips. Sam was enraged, but kept his mouth shut for fear of retaliation on Lara.

Bill replied calmly. "Yes, I do happen to have a good reason for calling. A couple of good reasons actually, Dean." There was silence as Dean obviously took in the man's accent. Sam could imagine his mind whirling at the thought of someone British calling him so early in the morning, after not having spoken to his brother for so long.

"Has something happened to Sam?" Dean's voice was low, and worried. "Who are you?"

"Tell you what – how about you see for yourself? I'm sending you a video call request now…" Bill fiddled with his mobile, and after a moment waved down the camera. "Say hello to Sam, Dean." Bill held up the cell phone and walked over to Sam. He made sure Dean saw every cut, bump and bruise on his brother's face. Sam, for his part, was torn at seeing Dean's anguished face. The sight of the man he had looked up to his whole life caused ripples of grief to rise. For just a moment, Dean's betrayal didn't matter – his heart ached too much at seeing the fear in Dean's eyes.

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Bill turned the camera away from him, and pointed it towards Lara. "Dean, meet your brother's new girlfriend. Lara – say hi!"

Sam could hear Dean swearing as the cell phone was moved away from him and towards Lara. Gavin smiled menacingly, and pressed the knife tighter to Lara's neck. All she could do was keep as still as possible whilst tears rolled down her face. She didn't say hi. She didn't say anything. After what seemed like minutes of her sobbing, but in reality was probably only ten seconds, Bill held the cell's camera back up to Sam.

Sam didn't give a shit at how pathetic his voice sounded. "Dean – _please_ – you have to help Lara…"

Bill switched the cell back to audio and held it against his ear. "You have something that I've been hired to find. Something that my buyer really, _really_ wants. I'll give you an hour to go get it and book yourself on the next flight from Kansas City to Heathrow. Call me when you're ready to leave."

There was a pause as Dean answered, and Sam strained to hear what he said. Bill just laughed.

"Mate, I'd like to see you try it. I don't think it's physically possible but what the fuck – I do like your style. Getting back to the point – give me a call back as soon as you've booked your flight." Bill held the phone away from his ear and laughed again at Dean's yelling.

"Oh yeah – I suppose I better tell you what I want. Go fetch me the Necklace of Trish. You have one hour. Talk soon." Bill hung up and stared triumphantly at Sam. "Wow your brother has a temper – I wouldn't like to piss him off!" He laughed at his joke. "Well done you – both of you! Played your roles perfectly. Now behave just a little while longer and you'll be both be free to go." Bill nodded towards Gavin, who unlocked Lara's wrists from the bar above the mattress. As soon as she was free she bolted towards the small bathroom behind Sam, and wedged herself between the toilet and the wall. It was the only place in the room she could cry in private.

Bill let her go, twisting his lips in mock pity. "We run a professional outfit Sam. The best in London. We guarantee our results with the minimum of fuss and bother. This is what we do – and we do it well. You were lucky that my buyer chose us to get the job done, and not some bodge-up artists." Bill reached up to Sam and patted him on the cheek. "See you soon Sunshine. Oh – and I haven't forgotten – you and I still need to have chat about what the fuck is up with you. Plenty of time before your brother gets here."

With that, all three of the men left the room – bolting the door behind them and leaving Sam still cuffed to the ceiling. Sam barely noticed their departure – he was still reeling in shock from hearing the item Bill's buyer had requested.

 _The Necklace of Trish?_


	10. Flashback - Breakfast

_****Flashback****_

 _Breakfast was a McDonalds Sausage McMuffin, washed down with several hash browns and some awful tasting coffee. The lights were too bright, the plastic seats were too hard, but the restaurant was empty apart from the brothers and a couple of bored looking servers._

 _Everything had an unreal quality to Sam. He wasn't well, he knew that. Mentally and physically. Maybe if they were some place familiar – or even if they were in the States, he could have centered himself quicker – but London wasn't home. The only thing that was currently grounding him was Dean; and Dean wasn't acting like himself either._

 _Sam glanced at the time on his cell. 5.30am. He still had hours until he could take the next set of painkillers and antibiotics, and the throbbing in his side was uncomfortable. He shifted around on the hard chair, trying to take his mind off the ache._

 _"So, how'd you find me?" He tried to sound casual. "We never even knew there was a British chapter of the Men of Letters."_

 _Dean was just finishing off the McMuffin, and making a lot of noise about it. He swallowed down the last bite. "The usual combination of research, luck and threats. Cas heard something about the those assholes, then we came here and did a bit of digging. Managed to grab someone high up in the food chain and persuaded him, using my natural charm of course, to tell me where you were. Nothing too dramatic. I'm sure it was a lot more exciting at your end." Dean gave Sam one of his wind-up smiles._

 _"Oh yeah. Haven't had so much fun since… let me think. Hell, maybe?" Sam rolled his eyes._

 _"You need to eat that." Dean pointed at Sam's remaining hash brown. "I've seen more meat on a pretzel than on your bony ass."_

 _Sam picked up the hash brown and nibbled at it. His stomach had shrunk so much he couldn't fit any more in. He tried anyway, to please Dean. "And the lock? How did you figure out it was a blood spell? And why did they do all this? I'm really hazy on the details of what happened yesterday...and…."_

 _"Slow down Sammy! Still don't know what this was all about but I doubt it was anything good. My new and recently deceased friend, Chuck bless his soul, was kind enough to share the details on the lock but not much else. Once I knew where you were, bing bang boom – I rescued your sorry behind and now here we are eating weird tasting McDonalds and making unnecessary small talk."_

 _Dean picked up the paper coffee cup and made a big deal of concentrating on that as he drank it down. His brother was good at lying. The best. And the tale spun here wasn't the whole story, not by a long shot._

 _"Dean…how are you alive? What happened with Amara?"_

 _This one seemed easier for Dean to deal with, so he went about explaining how Amara and God decided that they dearly wuvved each other after all, and walked off hand in hand into the sunset together with a laugh and a wave. Sam gritted his teeth at this - when he last saw them had God pretty much been dying in front of him, whilst Amara seemed hell bent on destroying the entire world. Dean had been turned into a human soul-bomb and they had said heart-wrenching goodbyes in the cemetery opposite their mom's grave. Sam had been left devastated. And now according to Dean, God and Amara had decided to make up and fuck right off again at the eleventh hour, leaving everyone else to pick up the pieces. Sam didn't want to disrespect God too much – after all…he was God. But he was pretty pissed off – why couldn't they have decided to kiss and make-up before then? Like before hundreds of people died and Sam had to carry Lucifer's ass out of the fire. The memory of having Lucifer wrapped in his arms still filled him with a cold sickness. Sam shivered._

 _"And Cas?"_

 _"Cas is Cas." Dean shrugged. "After getting zapped into the middle of next week by that bitch, he called and told me what happened. Then spent the next two weeks reading every bit of paper he could get his hands on about what he kept referring to as the BMOL." Dean made a little flourish with his hands at this. "Soon as I told him you were ok he went off looking for Lucifer."_

 _"Lucifer?" Sam went all kinds of hot and cold. "Cas is hunting Lucifer?"_

 _"Hunting him like a man possessed." Dean chuckled inappropriately, "well, formerly possessed. Still, it keeps him busy and out of my hair. He'll shout if he gets close and we'll deal with it from there. But first we gotta get you all healed up and back to the U.S of A."_

 _"I will definitely second that." Sam raised his cup to Dean's. He saw his brother taking in all the band-aids half falling off his fingers. Even as a kid he could never keep them on for long._

 _"What happened to you Sammy?" Again, Sam heard that drunken-sober note in his voice. "In that place. I mean, I know it was bad – obviously. What…did they do?"_

 _"You really want to know?"_

 _"Only if you want to tell me - I'm not your therapist or anything." His green eyes bored into Sam. "And it's not tit-for-tat either, before you start with the prying again..."_

 _In spite of the coffee, Sam's eyes were beginning to droop – and Dean hadn't had any sleep at all. He sighed and shifted around in the seat again. Despite what Dean said, there was a small chance his brother would open up if he did._

 _"You know pretty much everything Dean. I never left that cell once, not in three weeks. But on the plus side, no one could get in either – so there's that." Dean nodded in approval to Sam, and Sam nodded back. "It was…well you know the worst bit was thinking you were dead. They kept telling me you weren't, but I didn't believe them. I can put up with no sleep and no food and even that fucking spiky thing that shredded me to bits. It was the mind games that got me the most." Sam stood up, as cramps clutched at his belly. As much as he wanted to talk to his brother, something more pressing got his attention. "Look Dean, can we head back? Greasy food on an empty stomach doesn't mix well with me..."_

 _Dean absolutely did know how pathetic Sam's stomach was – they had shared bathrooms for pretty much all of their lives. "Jeez Sammy, you're such a delicate snowflake. C'mon then – let's go. And this time let me wrap those damn fingers up properly – you look like you've been wrestling Edward Scissorhands."_

 _"Seriously? Take a look at your own arm – you still haven't done anything about it."_

 _Dean grunted moodily. The walk back to the hotel was just a few minutes, and by the time Sam felt safe enough to get up off the toilet, Dean was snoring away in his bed. He had finally taken off the blood soaked jacket and Sam could see fresh bandaging. His hazy recollection of the way Dean had got that wound nagged at him. Totally drained, Sam climbed back in between his bloody sheets and lay in bed shivering and thinking of his mom, before sleep finally took him._


	11. The Necklace of Trish

_The Necklace of Trish?_

The Necklace of Trish was a joke! It was literally a cheap beaded necklace that had belonged to a girl named Trish who once spent the night with Dean. He had found it under his motel bed the next morning and, in the way that brothers do, Sam had taken the piss it was secretly Dean's. The necklace pretty much came everywhere with them as a standing joke; Sam had even hung it around the neck of a stone bust of some long dead man of letters at the bunker.

Why the hell would some secret buyer do all this just to get some pink plastic beads that sold for $5 in any Walmart?

Sam's mind whirled as every possible scenario that even half made sense ran through his brain. The fact that his entire face felt like it was being eaten by fire ants made it hard to think. One thing he knew for sure; Dean would have an answer. But first, the angel warding HAD to come off, and he needed Lara for that.

Through puffy lips, he called out to her softly. "Lara…are you ok?" She didn't reply. "Lara… _please_?"

After a minute or so, he heard water running from the faucet, so twisted around as best he could to see her head-on through the open doorway. She was washing the blood off her face, scrubbing it with wadded up toilet paper. Her nose was swollen and her eyes were starting to bruise. Deep anger coursed through him again at her pain. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to inflict a fuck load of violence against the three kidnappers.

Lara came out of the bathroom and stood in front of him. Some of her hair was wet, and had tiny bits of toilet paper stuck to it. "So that bloke on the phone was your brother?" Her voice was taut.

"…Are you ok?..."

She repeated herself. " _So that bloke on the phone was your brother?_ "

She had every right to be mad and Sam looked down, ashamed. "Lara I'm so sorry."

"He's like you is he? Dodgy? Don't tell me – it's a family business - getting people nicked off the streets?"

"No!" Sam looked up. "I don't talk to my brother anymore, I haven't seen him in months. Look - he might be a lot of things, _is_ a lot of things - but I can guarantee he will do everything he can to help you. Whatever he's mixed up in, he would never have wanted an innocent bystander hurt."

She scowled, then winced as it hurt. When she spoke, it sounded like she had a bad cold. "This is all bollocks. Total bollocks."

"Yeah it is." He agreed. "It's a total fucking shit-storm. And my apologies mean jack, I know that."

She actually growled in frustration. She was staring at his mess of a face, the way he was staring at hers. "You keep apologizing. Tell me exactly - what bit of this nightmare do I blame you for?"

 _God, where to start._ Shouldn't have befriended her in the first place. Should have made a big scene as soon as he first saw Bill in Stratford and given her a chance to run.One moment, though, stood out like a beacon. "…That I didn't get you out of here when I had the chance."

She paused at that. "What do you mean ' _when you had the chance'_?"

He had no idea how to phrase this. "I kind of had a way, just after we searched this room. I didn't take it though."

"Why?" She looked shocked.

"Lots of reasons. Pride being one of them, I guess."

"What the fuck? _Seriously?_ " She looked just about ready to swing for him.

"We can still do it though. Now, quickly, before they come back. I know it won't make up for what you've been through, but at least things won't get any worse for you."

She looked at him incredulously. "So let's do it then! You got some secret panic button or something? Some code word that will bring helicopters, the SAS and Harry Potter? No?"

He chuckled, hollowly. "Nope. I've got a nail."

"A nail." She stared at him. "You're mental."

"It's been known." He gave her his best smile. With cuts and blood everywhere it must have looked like a death rictus. "Down there somewhere…" He pointed with his foot. "Can you get it?"

It took her a moment to find it. She waggled it in front of his nose. "Ok MacGyver – now what?"

"If you can get it to my right hand, I can try and unlock the cuffs. Can you reach up? I know I'm normally tall, but like this my hands are near the ceiling." She stood on tiptoes and with a little jump, managed to get it into his hands. He dug about, and tried, but could not get anything like enough purchase to pick open the handcuffs. The nail was just too small, and the angle was all wrong. He tried again anyway, just to make sure, before swearing in defeat.

She turned away and kicked the plaster wall next to her. "Sam, I'm trying to stop with the crying and all that, I really am. I don't want to be a fucking pathetic woman, but I swear the next time they come in here I might actually collapse with a heart attack."

He believed she meant it: she was trembling all over. "Look – getting out of these cuffs would have been great – but it's not crucial. It just means you've got to do something that you really won't want to." He stared at her hard, willing her to listen to him. "You have to do what I say – whether you think it's crazy or not. And when we get out of here I will explain everything, I swear it."

She looked like she was going to cry again. Instead she tucked some of her matted hair behind her ear. "What. What do I do?"

"Lift up my shirt."

She looked at him like he had just insulted her mom. "What?!"

"LARA! Please, trust me! Lift up my shirt."

"Fine!" She choked back as sob as she pulled his bloody work shirt up to waist height. "I'm gonna die horribly in a room with a crazy man who wants me to look at his snail trail."

He ignored her mutterings. "Can you see on my stomach – there's a mark on my skin? A burn mark in a series of crisscrossed lines?"

"Oh my god Sam, what the fuck? Who the hell did this?"

He ignored her question. "Take this and cut into some of the lines." He opened his hand and dropped the nail to the carpet. She backed away fast, as he knew she probably would.

"Lara – you have to do this! Cut deep through the scar tissue on a couple of the lines to destroy the sigil."

"No! You're crazy! How does that help us get out of here? You're a fucking weirdo!"

She was shouting, and Sam desperately hoped that Bill wouldn't come rushing in to see what all the noise was about. But, in his desperation, he couldn't help but shout too. "You _have_ to…NOW."

"Why?" She was crying now. "How will cutting you help us?"

He pursed his sore lips, knowing she wouldn't believe him: Lara was a regular vanilla citizen with absolutely no knowledge or experience of the kind of world he lived in. "The mark on my stomach is an anti-angel sigil, and it's keeping away a friend of mine."

"Anti-angel what now? What are you talking about?"

"Listen to me. I get it – that sounds nuts. Totally and utterly bat-shit nuts." He chuffed half-heartedly. "And it's the honest to god truth. As soon as the symbol is gone I can call him and he _will_ get you out of here."

"Call him with what? The invisible phone you keep up your arse for emergencies?" She went to turn away, then swung back as the thought hit her. "Hang on – you say an anti-angel mark is keeping your friend away. So that would make him what, an _angel_?" Lara stormed over to the bag of snacks, and began rifling through them. "I need chocolate. Tequila would be better, but a Kit-Kat will do." She turned to him. "We are well past nuts. The turning for 'nuts' was about ten miles back that way. You want a Snickers or a Kit-Kat? I'm having a Kit-Kat. Or do you want some crisps?" She was rambling.

If she wouldn't, or couldn't, help him it might be hours before they removed the handcuffs. If they ever removed them at all. He may never be given the opportunity to damage the sigil: they might just kill him where he stood once Deal made the handover. Lara, he suspected, had even less time: she was only there to persuade Sam to persuade Dean. Which had now happened.

Precious minutes slipped away as Sam wracked his brain trying to come up with something to persuade her. He interrupted her picking at the candy bar, trying a different tactic. "Have you ever seen a ghost?" He asked.

"What?" She gave up nibbling on the chocolate and looked up at him.

"Have you ever felt, or seen, something you can't quite explain? Maybe at night, in the dark?" It was a fairly calculated gamble – most people had been creeped out at night at one time or another in their lives. And as he knew first hand, things really did go bump in the night.

"You have, haven't you? Talk to me Lara – what happened?"

She shook her head. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"You tell me first – then I'll answer your question."

More minutes crawled past, before she decided to answer. "I'm a twin. _Was_ a twin. My sister died when we were small. Sometimes…sometimes I think I can feel her hand in mine." She wrapped up the rest of the Kit-Kat and put it back in the bag.

"Do you want to believe it's your sister? Or do you _know_ it's her?"

"I don't know."

"What about god? Do you believe in him?"

"God? What does god, or my sister have to do with anything? You said you'd answer me..."

"Do you?" Sam persisted.

"I don't know! Maybe? I think so? _Why_?"

"Lara – you are an intelligent woman: that's obvious. And yet you don't discount the possibility of god, or ghosts. So why not angels?"

She snorted, then winced as it hurt her nose. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously! What's with the selective disbelief? If you are willing to take the possibility of god on faith, why not angels? They're in the bible too…"

"God, angels…I know I've only known you a couple of weeks, but I didn't have you down as some kind of bible basher. I _really_ got you wrong. The hair and the accent must have really distracted me…"

"Lara – why the hell would I lie to you? Look at me! What could I possibly gain by lying to you about this?" He could see the puzzlement in her eyes as she thought about this.

"Everything I'm telling you is the truth. I'm not CIA, or a hitman or any of the crap we said earlier. I'm a hunter. A _supernatural_ hunter. I go after every bad thing you ever had a nightmare about, and kill it dead." He took a deep breath as he realized what he just said. "Or rather I _was_. Now I just work for a bank and make small talk with pretty women at bus stops." The joke wasn't funny, he knew that. "My friend, Castiel, he really is an angel. He's a good guy. He _will_ help."

"Sam. Let's say for two seconds that I believe your 'supernatural' bullshit. Which, y'know – being an 'intelligent woman', I _don't_. If he is your friend and such a good guy, why do you have that symbol carved into yourself?"

"I did it to keep him away, because I didn't want my brother using him to find me. I meant what I said just before – I don't want anything to do with Dean." Surely she could see the pain in his eyes, see the sad truth of it?

They both flinched as the sudden sound of a toilet flushing came through the wall next to them. That reminder of Bill's proximity put Lara back on the edge of freaking out. Softly, sadly, he tried one last time. "Tell me Lara – what exactly do you have to lose by trying this?"

Panic did what his words couldn't. "Fine – you win. The crazy lunatic wins. Which makes me even crazier for doing this!" Rushing the few steps over to him, she bent and picked up the nail. She didn't give herself any time to change her mind, just lifted up his shirt and dragged the nail deep through the scar, punishing Sam for her predicament. It was only once blood started to flow, when she heard Sam hissing with pain, that she realized what she'd done. His shirt began to blossom with crimson, and she backed away slowly, still holding the nail. "…Sam?"

Sam closed his eyes and began to pray.


	12. Flashback - The truth will out

It was nearly two pm by the time Dean scraped himself out of bed and into the bathroom. Sam, who had already been up for an hour, had used the time to shower, change his variety of bandages and band aids, take more pills and get dressed. He felt clearer headed than he had in weeks.

Dean took his time in the bathroom so Sam lazed on top of his bed, catching up with news of the outside world on his phone. Things would invariably reach their usual level of crazy soon enough so he decided to enjoy the moment.

"Hey Dean," he called out, once he heard his brother finally open the bathroom door. "Not far from here is the smallest bar in the UK. It's called The Dove. Before we go back we should definitely take a visit."

"Yeah, I'm up for that." Dean stepped out, towel drying his hair. "Lemme get dressed and we can go check it out."

"Now? Can we get some food first, at least? That soup was so good…"

Dean padded over to his bed, and began rummaging through the first aid kid Sam had left there. "I won't say no to a visit to Wong's. We could do with getting some more supplies too." He pulled out a clean bandage from the dwindling pile and began carefully wrapping it around his arm. Really, it needed stitches: it hadn't stopped bleeding. Dean just wrapped it tight instead. "You want me to take a look at your war wounds when I'm done?"

"S'ok Dean – already done."

Dean carried on getting dressed. "So, what do you mean it's the smallest bar in the UK? Is it like…"

They were interrupted by a knocking on their hotel room door. Dean's head was halfway inside his t-shirt, so Sam reluctantly got up off his bed to answer it. It was the scruffy looking guy he had seen in the hotel lobby when he first arrived here two days ago.

"Hi. Um…is Dean around?"

"He's getting dressed. I'm his brother, Sam." Sam stuck out a hand. "You work here right? I thought I saw you the other day." The handshake was returned, but not before Sam noticed him staring at his wrapped-up fingers.

"Phil Brooker: Manager, arse-wiper and general dogsbody of this fine establishment." He smiled. "Brother huh? I can kind of see the resemblance."

"What can I do for you Phil?" Sam stepped out into the hallway, guiding Phil out. Sam figured the amount of dried blood on his bedsheets would freak the guy out. Not to mention the sodden bandages everywhere. The place looked like a makeshift hospital.

If Phil seemed bothered by Sam not wanting him in his room, he didn't show it. Sam figured he probably saw all sorts managing a slightly grimy hotel like this one.

"Yeah, nothing's up – just haven't seen Dean for a couple of days so I thought I'd swing by and ask see if he was ok?"

Sam thought back – the last time Phil saw them they were both pretty banged up after his rescue.

"We're all good here, thanks Phil. We'll probably only be sticking around another day if that's ok with you?"

"No probs. What about the woman in the connecting room? Same as you guys I assume?"

Sam's skin prickled, as if someone had just walked over his grave. "The um, the woman next door…"

"Yeah the blonde lady: seemed tight with Dean. Is she not…" He was cut off by a sudden gust of air, as Dean yanked the door wide open with what seemed an unnecessary amount of force. Dean grabbed Sam and pulled him back into the room, before calling out, "Hey Phil! I'll catch up with you later."

Sam stumbled back into the room, as his brother shut the door. "What the hell Dean?"

"I don't want you around that guy. He's creepy." Dean's face was a mask of concern.

"The fuck? Seriously?" Sam was incredulous. "I gotta tell you Dean, the only one worrying me around here is you. What's going on?"

There was a stand-off as they glared at each other without talking. Dean went to move past him, but Sam shoved him back. "No Dean! Enough of this! Who's the blonde woman staying next door?"

Dean changed tack, tried to make light of it. He gave a smirk. "What, so I gotta tell you about all my hook-ups now?"

"BULLSHIT!" Sam roared. "You've done nothing but lie about that room since I got here. If she was just some woman you were fucking, she would have been in _this_ room with you, not that one."

"Stop embarrassing yourself Sam, with your mystery paranoia plots. That was already her room when I got here. We hooked up a couple of days later. I guess we did spend a bit of time doing…y'know. I can see how Phil thought we were together." The words spilled out of his mouth like oil out of a can. Smooth and slick. "She must have left without checking out. Bit surprised she didn't let me know she was going… but I guess she was the love 'em and leave 'em type."

"What's her name?" Sam asked, disbelief clearly apparent in his voice.

"Candy Lovelace." Dean answered, immediately.

"What?! That's where your brain went first - the porniest of all porn names?"

"All expectations were fulfilled Sam. She was awesome."

"She was a hooker then?"

"Sammy you know me, I don't pay for sex. I thought we both had a good time. I know I did." He chuckled. His smug expression infuriated Sam. He knew, absolutely _knew,_ something was going on here. No way would Dean spend night and day getting laid whilst his little brother was missing presumed tortured. But forcing Dean to admit anything was just not going to happen: his brother was more stubborn than a cat at bath time. So, he was forced to play this a different way.

Sam sat heavily on the bed and dug though his duffel bag, pulling out a warm hoodie. He shivered as he peered up at his brother. "If that's true..."

"..which it is…" Dean interrupted.

"…If that's true" Sam repeated, "then I'm glad you had someone around whilst I was gone. It must have been a tough time for you, not knowing what happened to me."

Dean's mask slipped, just for a brief moment, and Sam saw an unbelievable amount of pain in his brother's eyes. Dean quickly turned around to grab a shirt to put on over his tee. "Naw man, I always knew you were gonna be just fine. Takes more than a few British bastards to put Sam Winchester down for good."

"If I'm 'just fine', then tell me why I'm seeing paranoid shit that you say isn't there." Sam looked directly up at Dean in confusion. "If everything's as ok as you say it is, why do I feel like everything's upside down?"

"Sam – you've been through hell – you're gonna be seeing plots and enemies coming out of the walls for days. Weeks, even." Dean sat down next to him and gave him the old 'big brother knows best face'. "Give yourself a break ok? Dude, you know I hate all that self-help crap, but you got to take the positives here: you and me – we're still kicking. Chuck and his hot sister didn't destroy the world and the stupid sons of bitches who kidnapped you are dead as disco." Dean radiated total sincerity. "I'm sorry I called you paranoid before Sam, that was out of line. You're just a bit messed up is all. But nothing getting back to your own memory foam mattress and a proper cup of American java wont fix."

Sam pulled his hair back from his face in a conciliatory gesture, and sighed deeply. "I guess you're right. I'm sorry too Dean. Being cooped up in that cell all that time…thinking you were dead…" He startled Dean by grabbing his brother in an embrace. Then, without giving him any chance to react, he shoved him back off the bed as hard as he could. A pair of handcuffs were around Deans wrists and attached to the radiator between the bed and the wall in less than six seconds.

"The fuck Sammy? SAM?" Dean's confusion was genuine, unlike Sam's.

"I am sorry." he said, pulling on the hoodie that had hidden the cuffs. Carefully he dragged both beds back out of reaching distance, and moved anything and everything that Dean could possibly use to escape. "Sorry it had to come to this. But you're a lying son of a bitch and I need to get to the bottom of whatever the fuck is going on here. Yeah those bastards did a number on me, but I am _not_ so messed up that I can't see something is really wrong here."

"Sam, you have exactly ten seconds to uncuff me, or I swear to god…" Dean began to threaten.

"Oh can it Dean. Save your energy. Hey - maybe 'Candy' will come back and fulfil a few more expectations whilst I'm downstairs talking to Uncle Creepy."

Dean yelled and tried to kick at Sam. "Sammy don't – please don't." Sam hated the begging note in Dean's voice.

Sam picked up Dean's cell and put in a video-call to his own phone. He put Dean's phone carefully on the desk and angled the camera to make sure he could see his brother at all times on his own phone. He then pulled off all the band aids from his fingers, ripping open his wounds. Using the blood, he went around the room marking up angel wardings. "Just in case you decide to call Cas." Sam didn't want to waste time re-band aiding his fingers, so just quickly wrapped some gauze around them. Then dug around the duffel one more time.

Dean's eyes narrowed as Sam retrieved his knife and shoved it through the belt at the back of his jeans. "Sammy…whatever it is you think you're doing – stop it now. I mean it. Do not go down this road..."

"Then tell me the truth."

"I can't Sammy, I…" Dean faltered, and Sam was shocked to see his brother's eyes welling up. That alone only made Sam more determined to get to the bottom of this.

"Why can't you just trust me on this? Please Sam?"

"I'll be back soon Dean." Sam said softly. "Whatever this is – you don't have to go through it alone. When I find out, we'll face it together." He ignored his brothers shouts as he went out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

Rather than take the elevator, he walked down the stairs, enjoying the freedom of stretching his legs. He could hear Dean still cursing through his cell phone, so turned the volume down low and put the phone in his hoodie pocket. Dean would be able to hear whatever conversations Sam had through his own phone on the desk but it didn't really matter: Sam needed to be able to check up on Dean to make sure he hadn't gotten out of that room until he had some answers.

The lobby was empty; Sam found nothing but empty chairs and the smell of old sweat. He called out to Phil but got no reply, so went behind the small reception desk and found a door marked Private. After knocking two or three times but getting no response, Sam tried the unlocked door. It opened into an office no bigger than their room upstairs. Phil was sat at a metal desk, totally engrossed in whatever game he was playing on a laptop. The office was tidier than Sam expected, and there was even a fairly healthy looking plant on the windowsill. As Sam announced himself with a loud cough, Phil looked up in surprise, then cursed as whatever character he was playing died.

"Shit fuck, I just started a comp game." He took a second to compose himself. "Sorry…Sam, was it? I'm not used to guests coming in here…not that we actually have many guests…"

"Hey, yeah, sorry about that Phil. I did call out, and knock, but I guess your game was pretty good huh?"

The hotel manager closed the laptop with a shrug. "Don't stress it: I spend too much time on there anyway. So what's up? You changed your mind and checking out already?"

"Oh, no, no nothing like that. It was something else actually. You mind if I sit down for a bit?"

"Pull up a pew Sam." Phil gestured to the rickety looking chair in front of his desk. "What can I do you for?" he joked. Phil seemed like a genuinely nice guy, and Sam really hoped he didn't need to start waving his knife about.

"This is kind of embarrassing. Not so much for me, but for my brother." He looked down at his bandaged hands and made a show of being a bit nervous.

"Embarrassing how? I've only known Dean a little while but I got the feeling it would take quite a bit for your brother to get embarrassed. And also, do you mind me asking - what happened to your hands?"

Sam looked at Phil as if he was unloading a burden. "I've had a pretty bad week to be honest - I've been staying with friends out of town and one of them had a huge crazy-ass dog. We took it out for a walk and it attacked some little dog and it took both of us to get it to leave the poor thing alone."

"Oh no!" If Phil was only playing nice, Sam couldn't tell.

"Oh its ok – the little dog is fine: it's me that came of worse. Trying to get Buster to open his jaws to let that other dog go, my hands got caught in the cross fire. Looks worse than it is, but I still had to go to the ER and get a shot. Some vacation huh?" Sam smiled ruefully.

"What happened to your friend's dog?"

"The cops took him away. My friend only had him a couple of months and he's never given him any trouble before. He was a stray, so who knows what's in the poor mutts past huh? You think he'll get put to sleep?"

"I really don't know much about dogs but, probably." Phil pointed to a kettle near the window. "You want a cuppa or something?"

"Oh no, but thanks. Gonna go out and grab some lunch soon. Maybe you can recommend me somewhere local? And cheap, cause I'll be paying for the both of us on my own. And that's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about."

"If it's about your bill you don't need to worry, Dean already paid up in advance…"

"What about the bill for the other room?"

"Same."

"And it was Dean that paid for that one too I bet." Sam looked annoyed. "See – that's the other thing that's ruined our vacation. The blonde woman that was with Dean. You ever see her before? She a regular here?"

"No…she arrived with Dean. She wasn't local - I think she was American like you guys. Why..?" He suddenly became wary.

Sam looked at Phil, a pained expression on his face. "I think she was a scammer."

"What? What happened?" Phil asked, concerned.

"I'm not entirely sure myself, but I think she tricked Dean out of quite a bit of money. He won't tell me the whole story – I think he's too embarrassed. He has a bit of a reputation as a ladies man, and...well, let's just say he never saw this coming."

Phil was worried. "Look, whoever she was, I can promise you she's nothing to do with this hotel…"

"No no!" Sam held up a hand. "Don't get me wrong. I'm not blaming you or your hotel at all. I'm just trying to get to the bottom of this in case I have to call the police."

Phil, to his credit, looked like he genuinely felt bad for Sam. He sat thoughtfully for a good long minute before answering. "Sam – being honest, I'm technically supposed to photocopy passports and keep a record of every guest's details. In reality...that doesn't happen so much. The Dorchester, we aint." He gave a nervous laugh. "People mostly stay here to get off the grid, if you know what I mean, your brother included. He gave me fifty quid just keep his name out of the guest register." He sighed. "You going to the police will cause a metric ton of aggro, so I want to help you find this woman without any interference if possible. You understand what I'm saying?"

Sam nodded. "Phil, I get it. I'd also prefer to sort this out myself than go to the cops. But if we get no luck, I won't have any choice. I'm not talking nickels and cents here, she stole a lot of cash. Did she give you her name when she checked in?"

Phil rubbed at his forehead furiously. Then got up and put the kettle on. Sam took the opportunity to look at his phone whilst Phil's back was turned. Dean was about as angry as Sam had ever seen him. He put the phone back in his pocket.

"Didn't Dean tell you her name?" Phil asked.

"Yeah, and it's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard." He waited until Phil sat back down, with a steaming mug of tea in hand. "It's a long shot, but I wanted to know if she maybe told you something, _anything_."

"She was quiet. Never said anything to me directly. Dean chatted away enough for the pair of them."

Sam clasped both palms against his forehead in frustration, but Phil held up a hand. "Hang on – I'm not finished. I've been wracking my brains trying to remember as many details as I can that could help. And I might have something: she made a mobile phone call the other day as she was coming out of the lobby."

He took a slow sip of tea, as he fought hard to remember the call. Normally, thoughtfulness and consideration were traits Sam admired, but now he wanted to scream at the guy to hurry up and get on with it. "I'm not 100% certain, I could be totally wrong, but I thought I heard her say something like 'Hi, its Mary'. She said it quietly and I wasn't listening all that hard, and that could have been a fake name too..."

Sam had stopped listening. _Mary_? Mary, like his _mom_? Blonde, American, Dean acting like his world just caved in, his hallucination of his mom outside the cell, Dean's mysterious arm wound? The coincidence was too much. His head swam and swam and he thought he might throw up.

Sam barely choked the next words out. "You have any surveillance cameras?"

Sam's composure had dropped and Phil could see nothing but raw emotion in Sam's face. "Do you _know_ her?" Phil asked. "You _do_ , don't you…?"

"I don't…I don't know for sure unless I see her. I need to see a photo, or video…"

"The hotel doesn't have any CCTV Sam. I mean, we do have a camera but it's never worked. It's just for show…" He trailed off as he could see the look on Sam's face hardening. "But next door does! The off-licence next door has cameras all over the place cause they've been robbed so many times. They probably have one or two facing the front."

"Off-licence?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, sells booze. Ranjit's a mate, he might have a look later if I ask."

Sam was done with all pretence. He stood up, pulled out a wad of notes from his pocket and placed it carefully on the desk in front of him. "Here's £500. Go ask him. Now." His tone left no room for argument.

Phil opened and closed his mouth, stunned at the huge amount of unexpected cash. He wasted no time grabbing his jacket and pocketing some of the cash on his way out of the office.

"Print me some pictures," Sam called out after him. "as clear as possible."

As soon as Phil was gone, Sam picked up his cell again and raised the volume. "You got anything you wanna say to me Dean?" His brother stared at him sullenly, with no answer. "Whose photo is Phil gonna come back with Dean?" Still nothing. His brother was one stubborn son of a bitch and was going to play this one final card long after the game was finished. Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's obstinacy. "Dean – why won't you talk to me? I would rather find out whatever this is from you than from a stranger…"

His brother finally replied, the tinny speaker not able to fully mask the emotion in Dean's voice.

"No, you don't Sam. You don't want to find out at all." Dean looked away from the camera and refused to say anything further.


	13. Castiel

Just a quick note. I know it might seem this way so far, but I swear I'm not hating on Dean! I love Dean (almost as much as I love Sam!) and whether Dean actually turns out to be the bad guy that Sam thinks he is will eventually be revealed. Or, I can just tell you now…whilst everything Dean has done, and will do, comes from a place of love, this story is set from Sam's pov only and he doesn't know the whole story yet.

Sam had been calling Castiel for far longer than it should have taken. With closed eyes and steady breaths he had repeated his location and his cries of help over and over but Cas hadn't appeared. Was Cas ok? Was he still mad? It's not like Cas hadn't ignored his calls before, but he had hoped they had gotten past all that long ago.

There were no wardings as far as he could see, and he had looked hard for them since arriving at the apartment block. Maybe there was something else keeping him away? At first Sam was calm, but now he was getting worried. Bill had to be due to speak to Dean at any moment, meaning he and Lara were on borrowed time whilst going nowhere fast.

Lara's scepticism wasn't going anywhere either. In between lots of eye rolls and mutterings about 'imaginary friends', she had gathered up most of their remaining toilet paper and was doing her best to clean Sam up. It was a bit of a wasted effort: he was bleeding faster than the thin paper could soak up, but helping him seemed to make her feel slightly less guilty at having being the one who cut him in the first place.

She obviously thought he was deluding himself with talk of angels coming to the rescue, rather than him just being an outright liar. Her tone as she fussed over him had changed from anger to something more like pity. But she was kind and sincere and his heart ached at the thought of anything else happening to her. He wondered what the hell she would make of it if… _when_ …Castiel finally appeared. He really, genuinely liked her and his only hope of ever getting past this with her, if it wasn't already too late, was if he was proved right. Now it was his turn to eye roll: he knew he was kidding himself – if by some miracle they both got out of this alive, and in one piece, why would she ever contemplate the idea of even talking to Sam again, let alone taking things further?

Once again, he felt a surge of anger towards Bill and Archie, towards anyone and everyone who had conspired to sabotage his new life.

And that included Dean.

If they truly had been kidnapped solely to retrieve a stupid necklace that was nothing more than a private joke, then following the logic-trail backwards led to Dean being behind this. Of all the things for some mysterious buyer to want – only one person on the planet could have set this up.

The last time they had spoken some serious words had been said. Sam had walked away in the total knowledge he was done ever talking to his brother again. Was Dean really so desperate to find Sam that he would set something like this up? Where Dean was concerned, anything was possible. Maybe he had never intended this, whatever this was, to go this far. Maybe the consequences of him trying to reach out to Sam in his own uniquely dangerous way hadn't even crossed his mind. Ultimately, it didn't really matter what Dean's intentions were: it was almost certainly his actions had put Lara's life on the line – and that, as far as Sam was concerned, was unforgivable.

Sam didn't give up on Cas, even as he heard the bolts on the bedroom door being thrown open. Lara, as promised, freaked out as soon as she heard the first noise at the door. Panic set in, and she fled to the bathroom.

Archie went past Sam to go and drag her out, but Bill told him to let her be. "It's Sammy here I want a word with, not the girl. So long as she stays out of my hair I don't really give a fuck if she wants to camp out in the bog." He ran a hand over his bald head, and gave a wink.

"What do you want?" Sam asked Bill, hoping to bring his attention away from Lara. He wasn't too concerned about Bill spotting the tear on his abdomen – between the split lip and the cut above his eye, his white shirt was now crimson all the way down the front.

"Not much, just a chat. First I'm going to ring Dean and see if he's been a good boy." The call was picked up after two rings. Bill didn't put the call on speaker this time, so Sam had to pick up the gist of the conversation from only one side.

 _Bill: "Afternoon Dean. You all sorted? What time you due to land?"_

 _Dean: "…"_

 _Bill: "I don't really care how many stops it is, that's not my problem." There was a variety of wheezes and chuckles._

 _Dean: "…"_

 _Bill: "You're gonna be knackered after all that travelling - I'll get one of my boys to pick you up from the airport. You're here at my invitation so think nothing of it mate, my pleasure."_

 _Dean: "…"_

 _Bill: "You know what? In a funny way I'm actually looking forward to meeting you Dean. You sound a lot more fun to be around than your brother, that's for sure." He looked at his watch. "See in the morning then."_

Bill ended the call. "All sorted. Bet that's a relief, eh Sam? Just a few more hours then you can have a proper catch up with your big bruv." Sam had no answer to that, but his face must have said it all.

"Like that is it? You two fallen out? That how come he's all the way over there, and you're all the way over here? What'd you row over? Birds? Money?"

Sam just laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound, and it prompted Bill's curiosity further.

"Me and my brother – we don't always get along – but blood's thicker than water." Bill's tone was patronising. "I'd fucking kill anyone who messed with Gav." He laughed and looked over at his mini-clone. "Even if he is a knob who's married to the ugliest bird this side of the river."

Gavin laughed good naturedly. "No one comes between a man and his brother. Just how it is."

 _Seriously?_ Sam was dumbfounded _. They were lecturing him about family - without any fucking idea of what sacrifices the Winchesters had made for each other._

"I'm guessing the problem lies with you." Bill said nastily, trying to piss Sam off. "Dean seems an alright bloke – he's about to travel thousands of miles just to get you out of a tight spot. And the language he used when he saw you all banged up - it would make even my old Nanny Dryer blush, and she swore like a fucking navvy! And yet…you don't seem very appreciative…"

 _Its Dean's fault I'm here in the first place!_ It was laughable that Bill obviously hadn't heard about Sam and Dean's previous unhealthy co-dependent history. If these guys only knew the half of what deals they had made to save each other – and who with - they would be running out of the room screaming in terror. The thought of them squealing at the sight of Lucifer, or God, or Crowley, or any of the multitude of supernatural beings that the boys had dealt with made Sam laugh out loud again.

It wasn't the reaction that Bill had been expecting, and he looked unsettled for the first time. "You're a strange one, aren't you?"

"It's been said." Sam wasn't even joking.

"I don't know what to make of you. I mean, I've met all sorts in my line of business, but I just can't work you out."

"Do I take that as a compliment?" Sam asked.

"Jury's still out. Tell me about yourself Sam. We like to do a bit of homework on our guests, and you being from the States made it a bit harder to dig out your background. Not that I haven't tried, mind. But some of it led to more questions than answers."

"Like what?" Sam asked, curious.

"All kinds of strange shit. Being honest, most of it sounds like bollocks. For instance: my contact out there's lost count of how many times someone with your particular name has been reported as dead."

Sam shrugged. "It's a common enough name, nothing freaky about that. I'm sure even people named Bill die just as often..." It wasn't quite a veiled threat, but Sam didn't care how it was taken.

"Not today they don't. Tell me Sam, before you came over here what did you do for a living?"

"Same as now: research. Boring as hell, I know."

"Yeah, I think there's a bit more to you than that. What kind of research we talking about?"

"Banking law mainly."

"Banking law my arse." Bill shook his head. "Slippery as fuck you are."

"Sorry to disappoint – but that's exactly what I do."

"Do _now_ , maybe. What about _did_?"

Sam huffed. "I read through dusty old books that no one's looked at in years, looking for obscure references in obscure languages. Look, I don't care if you believe me or not Bill, I really don't, but that's the honest to god truth."

"Maybe that's part of what you did. But not all of it." Bill was smart, smarter than Sam gave him credit for. "It doesn't explain your calm demeanour in an otherwise out of the ordinary and frightening situation. It doesn't explain why you seem to be so comfortable in a set of handcuffs and bruises. It doesn't explain why your brother is in possession of a trinket that you've obviously heard of, that someone very rich and powerful wants to obtain. So don't bullshit a bullshit artist son – tell me your fucking story."

Sam stared stonily at Bill. "If you uncuff me and get us some decent food, I'll think about us having a civilised conversation. Until then, I'm not interested in discussing 'my fucking story' with a violent bully, so screw you."

Bill was silent for a while. "No one speaks to me like that in this room. No one. Who the fuck do you think you are?" He turned to his brother. "Give us your knife Gav."

Sam's stomach lurched as Bill turned towards him with the kitchen knife. Bill looked him over, appraising him. Then pushed the knife through the sleeve of his shirt into the soft elbow joint on his left arm. He pushed again, then twisted then poked around, destroying the muscle and joint the way you would debone a chicken. Sam twisted and yelled as intense pain ripped through nerve endings. As the knife dug at his bone, shock and nausea rose quickly. He screamed at Bill in agony, called him every single curse word he could think of, until Bill finally pulled the knife out.

Sam could hear Lara in the bathroom hysterically crying, hear his own heavy ragged breathing, hear his blood drip steadily onto the carpet. He fought against being sick, against passing out. Everything did go grey for a moment, and when colour returned Bill was still there in front of him.

He was looking at Sam expectantly, waiting for him to cry or beg or start babbling. Sam looked up at the scars on his fingers and his resolve hardened even further. After everything he had been through it would take more than a knife in the arm for him to break. If Lucifer himself couldn't do it, this asshole stood no chance.

Sam's refusal to cave wound Bill up more. "Fucking Yanks. Arrogant cunts with a superiority complex."

Sam gritted his teeth before repeating himself. "Uncuff me, get us some decent food. I've _nothing_ to say to you till then."

Winchester stubbornness was as immovable as Everest and deeper than the Pacific Ocean. Sam had it built into his DNA and Bill saw absolutely nothing but obstinacy in Sam's face. If he wanted any kind of answers at all, there was only one way he was going to get them – and it wasn't going to be through force.

Bill's common sense – and overriding curiosity - just about managed to dominate his bloodlust. "We can do civilised. I'll even get the young lad to make you a cup of tea. How's that?" Bill nodded towards Archie, who reached up and unlocked Sam's wrists. The pain as he brought his damaged arm back down threatened to wipe him out again. He backed up and leant heavily against the wall, using his right arm as a cradle.

"Your brother don't arrive till tomorrow Sam. We've got a few hours to play it your way, and if you let me down we can go back to mine."

In a world of pain, Sam smiled at him through blood stained teeth. "Cup of tea sounds great Bill. Two sugars in mine please. Same for Lara, she could do with the energy."

Sam waited until they had all left before sliding down the wall. Blood was everywhere, and the stench of it was sickening. A flashback of being in that cell only two short months ago took his breath away. Why did this shit keep happening to him? Shock overwhelmed him and his legs began to shake with cold.

He didn't even realise he had passed out until he awoke to find Lara at his side, using his discarded tie to tightly bandage his arm. She had put him in the recovery position and was concentrating hard to tie the last knot firmly. "You ok?" she said, as he helped him sit back up against the wall.

"Yeah," he replied automatically. He wasn't, but he was never going to tell Lara that. God he was so tired. All he wanted to do was sleep.

"Do you want some water?" She asked.

"Yeah," he said again. The back of his brain was numb with fatigue. "Help me up please?" Lara steadied him as he got up, helped him take the few steps into the small bathroom. He leant against the basin, and drank handfuls of water from the faucet until the taste of blood left his mouth. He washed his gore soaked hands and face as best he could. It didn't help to wake him up any.

"What are you going to say to them? When they come back." She was standing just outside the bathroom, arms crossed over her chest.

He ran one damp hand through his hair. "I haven't got that far yet. No idea."

"Some advice? Leave all the angel shit out of it. They're just gonna think you're mental."

He turned to look at her. "Like you, you mean?"

She gently smiled at him. "I don't think you're mental. Just fucking crazy…"

As Sam went to smile back, the cut on his lip broke open again. He turned towards the basin to rinse out his mouth, when a sudden throb from his abdomen reminded him of the torn sigil. He lifted up his sodden shirt to look closely at the mark. Lara had cut through two of the lines, but hadn't cut deeply enough on one of them. Unexpected hope struck him like a bucket of ice water, and he was suddenly awake and alert.

"Lara, you still got that nail?"

"What?" She looked at him like, _oh god not this again._

He held out a hand, and she must have seen the change in his face, his excitement. She pulled the nail out of her trouser pocket and reluctantly handed it over to him like a parent giving in to a spoilt child.

Without any hesitation at all, he dug the nail deep into the intact burn mark. He closed his eyes again and began to pray. It was only a startled squawk from Lara that made him look up. Pure delight flooded through Sam at the heart-warming sight of his old friend arriving to help them. "Cas! Cas, thank god…"

"Sam, it's so good to see you. You look terrible!" Castiel stood in front of him and Lara, his expression equal measures of worry and relief.

"Yeah, thanks!" He laughed even though it wasn't a joke. "Man it's good to see you too." Sam was so overwhelmed he was almost giddy. "Cas – this is Lara. Lara this is Castiel. My imaginary friend."

"Imaginary?" Cas was confused. "No – I'm not imaginary."

"Not what I meant." He looked over at Lara, whose stunned face was the absolute epitome of puzzlement. "You ready to get the hell out of here?" he asked her. He was grinning from ear to ear, all thoughts of his lip, his arm, his face forgotten. His childlike delight must have rubbed off on Lara, who suddenly burst out laughing. She was also crying at the same time. Lara reached out and very, very gently poked a finger at Castiel, to check he was real. "I…I…I don't even know what to say. Turns out the crazy bloke I fancied isn't crazy after all. Oh thank fuck for that!"

"So you _do_ fancy me then?" He teased.

"You're an Angel?" She said to Cas, voice hushed. Her eyes gazed up at him with absolute amazement.

"I am," replied Cas, slightly embarrassed. He coughed. "We should leave. Sam?"

"Take Lara. Go."

"What?" Lara and Castiel said in unison.

"Cas – take Lara home."

"Sam, you're severely injured and your life is in danger. I'm not leaving you here alone."

"Then come straight back after Lara's safe."

"There's something you should know." Cas looked uncomfortable. "Dean is here."

"In London? But his flight…? Oh..." Sam's face hardened. "He was never back in the States was he? He's been here all along..."

"We've both been here, in this building, for hours. I heard you cry out to me but I couldn't get nearer than two floors down." Castiel obviously felt terrible about this.

"I don't blame you Cas."

"Dean was going to wait until it got dark, then take them by surprise. We _were_ here for you Sam."

"I get it. Its ok. Please, just get Lara home safe then you can come back and get me." Castiel looked from Sam to Lara and back again. He could see how desperately important it was to Sam for Lara to be safe. Lara looked conflicted. It was evident she was desperate to leave the apartment, she just didn't want to leave Sam here alone. Castiel felt the same way.

"I'll do it. But first I have to stop the bleeding in your arm. A vein is punctured and you will bleed to death within a few hours if I don't help." Without waiting for an answer, Cas reached forward and placed a palm on Sam's forehead. A deep warmth filled his bones, his arteries, his soul even. Castiel's healing was a comforting and familiar feeling. He felt a sudden rush of love for the Angel, immediately followed by guilt at how he had treated him the last couple of months.

"I'm sorry Cas, I haven't been a very good friend to you lately."

"I understand Sam. Things have been…difficult." There was an awkward moments silence. "Please – stay safe. I will be back shortly." Castiel took hold of Lara's hand. She was staring at Cas in a comical mixture of bafflement and reverence. It was the last thing Sam saw of her before they both disappeared, leaving Sam alone.


	14. Flashback chapter - some answers

_**Flashback time**_

 _Sam made himself a coffee in the tiny kitchenette (one kettle, milk left out on the windowsill and a teaspoon rattling around inside a jar of Nescafe), and settled down to wait. He left his cell on the table in front of him in case Dean decided to give in and talk. Fifteen slow minutes crawled by, and Dean refused to say anything. Phil's absence was also beginning to drain Sam's patience. He knew £500 was overkill – far too much money to give someone for what was actually quite a small favor. Sam supposed that Phil could use some of it to replace the ruined bedsheets. It was pretty much all the English cash Dean had tucked away, but Sam considered it a necessary expense if it meant getting answers sooner rather than later. He decided to give it another five minutes before searching Phil out. He poured the dregs of his coffee down the sink and rinsed the mug. It felt wrong to just hang around waiting on something so important._ Fuck it _, Sam decided._ I'm going next door now _._

 _As he got up and opened the door, he could hear Phil's voice down at the end of the lobby. He was talking to a couple of the other guests about some directions to somewhere or other, whilst clutching a couple of printed sheets of paper in one hand._

 _Too impatient to wait, Sam marched straight over to Phil and butted into their conversation. "Hey Phil – they mine?" Sam got some filthy looks from two of the guys he had interrupted, but he didn't give a crap. Phil looked mildly embarrassed at Sam's rudeness._

" _Uh yeah, take them." He handed them over. "Look, I've got some other stuff to be getting on with now, but if you need any more help just give me a shout ok?"_

 _Sam didn't waste time answering him, just turned around. He could hear Phil apologizing to the other guests as he walked away. His heart was pounding with nervous anticipation, but he forced himself to wait until he was with Dean before looking at the two very expensive photographs he had just purchased._

 _He let himself into their room and went straight over to the bed. Dean was exactly where he had left him on the floor. Sam considered unlocking the handcuffs, then dismissed the thought. Answers first. As he sat and braced himself to look at evidence in his hands, Dean's voice was hoarse. "Last chance to trust me Sammy. Just rip the photos up, flush them down the toilet then we can forget this ever happened."_

 _Sam looked down at his brother. "If this was the other way around, and it was you holding these pictures instead of me, there's not a chance in hell you'd do that."_

" _If it meant the difference between you staying or going, I would. Cause that's what this is Sam. This is you walking out that door and leaving for good."_

" _You think I'm gonna quit on you? After everything?"_

" _You've done it before, for less."_

" _For fucks sake Dean!"_

" _I know you Sammy. I know what this will mean to you. You won't get it, you won't understand and you'll hate me. So I'm asking you…no I'm begging you. Flush those photos and let this thing go. Please..."_

 _Dean had pulled every emotional trick in the book to convince Sam to leave this alone and for a moment it did cause Sam to waver as he weighed up the options. Was finding out the truth really worth distressing Dean like this? The weight of the photos in his hands was heavy. But his heart – and his need to help his brother through this mysterious traumatic event - was heavier._

" _Dean – something's happened that's eating you alive and you're asking me to just ignore it. How can you ask me to do that?"_

" _Because I'm your brother and it's my job to stop you getting hurt."_

" _How many times do we have to have the same argument? It goes both ways! I'm sorry Dean, but I've made up my mind. I need to know what's going on with you."_

" _Dammit Sam!" Dean kicked out at the nearest bed frame in frustration, cracking the wood. His body slumped in defeat. "Do it then. Just…know that everything I've done, I've done for you."_

 _He turned away as Sam finally looked at the two photos. Both were timestamped one week earlier. The first had Dean in it. It was black and white but the resolution was sharp enough to pick out the joy in his eyes as he stared at the blond woman in the photo. She was walking beside him just outside of their hotel. The second photo showed the woman on her own, Dean just out of shot. She was looking upwards and he could see the soft line of her face, the warmth of her eyes, a hesitant smile playing on her lips. He was looking at his mom, alive and healthy just one week ago._

" _Amara brought mom back." Dean's voice was thick with emotion. "After she and Chuck made up."_

" _Amara brought mom back?" Sam's echo was barely a whisper._

" _When I found her she was wearing the same nightgown from that night...the night she…" He swallowed, but it didn't make talking any easier. "She was confused, didn't even know who I was. It took a lot of persuading to get her to accept I was Dean –_ her _Dean. She didn't even know what year it was."_

 _Sam couldn't put the photo down, couldn't bring himself to tear his gaze away from her. She was so beautiful. "Three weeks." Sam had tears in his eyes as he stroked the image of her face with a fingertip. "Three weeks ago, when I got taken, that was the day mom came back?"_

" _Yeah. Sammy I…"_

" _She was there, wasn't she? When you got me out. She really was there?"_

 _Dean looked sick. "Sam…"_

" _You got to be with her for three weeks." A teardrop fell onto the photo. "The only three weeks she had back, and they kept me from her." He looked up, tears streaming down his face. "And then she…because of me…" He couldn't find the words._

" _Sam – she was desperate to find you. To save you. She might not have known how to work a cell phone, but she was never going to give up on you. And when Cas worked out who took you she was here like a shot, working the case day and night…"_

 _Grief ran like a fever through his body: Sam was suddenly unable to sit still. He took a dirty t-shirt and began rubbing at the sigils he had painted on the walls._

" _Cas! Castiel!" He called to the angel, shouting out, praying for him to appear._

 _Cas's first instinct at seeing a safely returned Sam was to smile in delight. But as he took in the situation around him: Dean sitting on the floor handcuffed, face as pale as he had ever seen it, and a tear-streaked Sam standing above him with an expression he couldn't read at all, his pleasure changed to bafflement._

" _Sam, Dean what's going on?"_

 _Neither brother replied so he looked around the room again. Saw the photos lying on the bed. This time asked them again more forcefully "What's going on here? Where's….where's Mary?"_

" _She's dead Cas." It was Dean that spoke._

" _Mary's dead?" Castiel was shocked. "When did this happen?"_

" _Around 48 hours ago." Dean said. He knew, almost down to the minute, when the bottom fell out of his world._

" _I'm…so sorry. How did she…?" He trailed off as neither brother would even look at him. "Sam? Please – talk to me. Why did you call me here?"_

" _You met her?" He answered, unaware of just how bitter he sounded._

" _Yes I did, several times. Why?...oh…" Castiel realized why Sam had asked. "You mean you didn't?" His tone was a mixture of sadness and horror. He reached out to the younger Winchester and placed a hand on his shoulder. Sam shrugged him off and began to pace about the small room._

 _Cas felt Sam's dismay as if it were a solid object. "Why is Dean handcuffed to the wall? Did you do this?"_

" _Yes." He stared at Cas. "And you know why? Because he kept her a secret from me. He never told me she came back, and he was never going to. I had to find out on my own!" He pointed to the photos on the bed. "The only interaction I will ever have with my mom was through a cell door and he let me carry on believing that it was just a hallucination."_

" _Dean is this true?" Castiel was puzzled. "Why didn't you tell Sam about Mary's resurrection?"_

 _Dean didn't answer him, spoke directly to Sam instead. "Why'd you call Cas? He doesn't need to hear any of this!"_

 _Sam read between the lines - Dean didn't want his friend to know what he'd done. Well, tough. Cas had a right to know. "He met her. He knew her. She died and he's family. I got more reasons, but for now I just want you to answer his damn question…"_

 _There was a painfully long pause before Dean shrugged in resignation. "When we finally found you, you were out of your mind with trauma. You thought she was an illusion and yeah, I let you go on believing that. I did it to spare you all the guilt and pain that I knew you'd feel, and I don't regret it – not for one moment. I'd do it again too, if it meant keeping you from feeling the way I feel right now."_

 _Sam knelt down in front of his cuffed brother. "If I thought that was all there was to it, I'd understand. You know I would. I'd be pissed, sure, but I'd get it." He spoke softly now, his top lip curled in suppressed anger. "No – what I want to hear from you is the stuff you AREN'T telling me."_

 _Dean jerked his head back. "There is nothing else!" His eyes flickered over to Castiel in desperation._

 _Sam noticed, looked up at the angel. "That's the other reason I wanted you here Cas. How far does this conspiracy go? Did you and my brother and my m..." He clenched his fists, "…Mary all sit cozied up together in the bunker, working out how best to hide the truth from me?"_

 _Castiel looked anguished. "I didn't know of Dean's plan to keep this from you, I promise..."_

 _Sam's jaw clenched. "I believe you. Look you can go if you want – you don't have to be a part of what's coming next."_

" _I understand that you're upset Sam, but I'm not leaving until you release your brother."_

" _What? Why? You think I'm gonna do something crazy? Hurt him?"_

" _No...I didn't mean that…I…"_

" _I'll be honest Cas, I do want to hurt him. I want to punch him in his lying face until my fists break. But that's not the way I'm gonna play this." Sam's voice was like steel. "No - Dean's not walking away without telling me the truth. We might end up dying of old age sitting in this room, but I swear to god we aren't leaving until I hear it directly from his mouth."_

" _Why are you doing this to yourself Sam?" Dean shouted. "She loved you! Why can't you just accept that? She was our mom, and she loved us both."_

" _Our mom? OUR mom? It was a blood lock Dean! How could you think I wouldn't notice that it didn't work for her?" He pointed at Dean's bandaged arm. "That she had to use YOUR blood to set me free? How long have you known that she's not my mom?"_


	15. Mug

Bill entered the room a short time later, carrying two mugs of tea. He was alone, expecting only to find a frightened woman and an injured weakened prisoner. He no idea of the fun Sam was about to have with him.

Sam sat on the floor looking three-quarters dead and clutching at his no-longer injured arm. He had mussed around his hair to conceal the fact the cut above his eyebrow had vanished.

Bill frowned at the whimpering noises his prisoner was making. "Making such a pig's ear out of a flesh wound. I'm disappointed – I thought you were tougher than that."

Sam awkwardly stood up, shivering miserably as he did so. Bill handed him one of the mugs and said "Drop of tea will help." _What a dick, Sam thought. As if tea could fix the damage he'd done._ Bill looked around for Lara, and assumed she was still in the bathroom. He stuck his head around the wall, and did a double take when he saw she wasn't in there. Sam came too close to laughing out loud at the sight of Bill looking back out into the bedroom and then into the bathroom. He choked it down, turning it into a moan of pain.

Bill came back out and turned to Sam, cheeks flushed red. "Where the fuck is Lara?"

Sam half-closed his eyes in mock delirium. "…who?" he asked.

Bill got up right into Sam's face. "Don't fuck with me…what's going on?"

Sam forced himself to open his eyes, to look around the room in confusion. "…she's right there…"

The moment Bill turned his face away from Sam's to follow his gaze, Sam brought the hot mug of tea straight down hard onto the top of Bill's head. The mug broke, leaving the handle in Sam's hand, which he kept onto to use as an additional tool to then punch Bill in the temple. The scalding liquid ran into Bill's eyes, and blood began to leak from the crack in his head, as well as from the new cut on his temple. Blinded, Bill swung out for Sam with the mug he had carried in for Lara, but Sam had already stepped away from his last position and put a boot hard into Bill's midriff. Bill went down backwards. Sam kicked him in the head, two…three times, until Bill stopped moving.

Sam smiled viciously at the sight of the London gangster bleeding on the floor in front of him. Searching his body, he found his cell phone, gun and a small knife. He put the cell and knife into his trouser pockets, then checked the gun to see if it was loaded. It was, so he kept onto it.

Now what to do with Bill? He wasn't dead, and Sam wasn't about to kill an unconscious human in cold blood. Unwrapping the now unnecessary tie from around his arm - which took a while as Lara had really done a number on the knots, he used it to tie Bill's wrists firmly behind his back.

Gun at the ready, Sam peered his head around the unlocked door. The corridor outside was empty. Slowly, he walked towards the small living room, passing the empty bathroom on his left-hand side. He heard the sounds of a soccer game from the TV ahead of him.

As he rounded the corner, he saw Gavin and Archie watching the game. Archie was mid-pull on a cigarette, and his eyes widened when he noticed Sam standing there. He coughed in surprise, forcing Gavin to look up. Bill's mini-clone leapt to his feet in shock.

"What have you done to my brother?" He asked, as what looked like a psychotic rage began to form behind his eyes.

"Relax, he's alive." Sam said, as he stepped in front of the TV, pulling the plug out of the wall. "Where's the boy? Alfie isn't it?" It felt so good being able to talk without feeling like his lip was going to split in two.

Alfie came out of the small kitchen, waving around a huge carving knife like he was about to hack through jungle undergrowth.

"What are you doing kid?" asked Sam. "Put down the ridiculous knife before you hurt yourself."

Alfie wavered, looking at the two gang bosses in front of him. Gavin wouldn't take his eyes off Sam so Archie spoke up. "It's ok Alf, do what he says."

Alfie looked at Archie with some serious attitude, and threw the knife back into the kitchen behind him.

"Gavin, Archie – sit right back on the couch please." Gavin's muscles were so rigid that Sam could almost hear them crack as he slowly sat down. "Thank you. Alfie – could you come here a moment?"

Archie's eyes narrowed, and he carefully put his cigarette down into the ashtray next to him. "You touch my nephew and you won't walk out of here alive. You hear me?"

Sam ignored him and spoke to Alfie. "Go open the apartment door, then come back." Without taking his gaze from the men in front of him, Sam pulled Bill's cell phone out from his trouser pocket. He held it out to the kid as he returned. "Take this and ring Dean. Put it on speaker."

Alfie took the phone and called up the last number dialed. Everyone heard Dean answer Bill's number with an abrupt ' _What_?'

"Dean. It's Sam. Get up here now."

Sam looked at Alfie. "Hang up, then go sit with your uncle." Alfie sulkily slouched down next to Archie. He picked up his uncle's cigarette stub and took a pull, before grinding it out moodily.

Something like thirty seconds later, Sam heard frantic footsteps running down the corridor outside the apartment. He looked up to see Dean in the doorway, gun raised in anticipation.

"Cover me." Was all he said to his brother as he walked past him.

Dean stared at the blood soaked into the front of Sam's shirt. Sam didn't even bother to tell him it was ok, that Cas had healed him. Instead he went over to the front door and kicked it closed with enough violence that even Dean flinched.

The guys on the sofa looked at Dean in confusion. "Aren't you supposed to be on a plane right now?"

"Supposed to be." Dean grinned at Sam, but Sam didn't smile back. Instead he went into the bedroom. Bill was still unconscious, so Sam was forced to drag him back into the living room by the ankles. He threw them none too gently on the floor as Bill finally started to rouse. Heavily confused, Bill stared at the scene around him, jerking in surprise at finding his hands bound behind him.

"Hey Bill – you said you were looking forward to meeting Dean." Sam pointed at his brother.

Bills burnt forehead creased further. "The fuck?" was all he could say.

"Hey pal." Dean waved at Bill.

"I just…I just spoke to you…you're in the States…"

"Am I?" He bent forward, almost nose to nose with Bill. "You WISH I was…"

Bill being Bill felt the need to reassert his dominance. "Mate - a word of advice. Make the most of this cause the memory of getting one up on me will be the only thing keeping you warm by the time I'm finished with you…"

Dean stood up, dismissing Bill's bluster. "Where's your girlfriend Sam? She ok?"

Instead of answering his brother, Sam went over to a sideboard and picked up a mix of zip ties and handcuffs. "You need to get these assholes secure." He handed them over and stood back covering Dean until it was done.

"Now this is more civilized, isn't it Bill?" Sam said, as he lowered himself into one of the side chairs and put his feet up onto the coffee table in front of him. "Dean, sit down."

"No I…"

"Dean – I said sit down." Sam said it softly, but the order behind it was unmistakable.

Dean dragged a kitchen chair over and sat at the opposite end of the coffee table, facing his brother.

Bill spoke up again. "What's happening here? Where did the girl go?"

"Lara. Her name is Lara." Sam bit down on his anger. "She's not my girlfriend, I barely even know her. What she is, however, is an innocent woman that you…" he pointed at Bill "and you…" he pointed at Dean "seemed to think was ok to use for your own ends."

"No – wait, I didn't even…"

"SHUT UP DEAN!" Sam couldn't keep the resentment in check anymore. "The necklace of Trish? – That's what you used to find me? That's what Lara had to go through hell for?"

"Sammy you've got this all wrong…" Dean's eyes were desperate as he tried to talk Sam down, but Sam wouldn't listen.

"I don't want to hear it. I don't care what you have to say, and I'm definitely not having this conversation in front of them." He turned to the guys. "All I want to know is if there is actually a buyer and who he is."

Condescension dripped from Bill's voice. "What do you mean, _if_ there's a buyer? Why else would we all be here otherwise? We don't do this for fun sunshine, this is our _job_ …"

"If this is what you do professionally then I'm amazed you're still breathing. I've met corpses that are more competent than you. And, by the way – that's not just a figure of speech. Who kidnaps someone without the faintest idea of who they are? Who takes on a job, and doesn't even think about who might have hired the buyer? No, you're nothing but jumped up muscle without a single brain cell between you."

Gavin couldn't contain his psychotic rage any longer and ran head first at Sam. "SIT THE FUCK BACK DOWN!" Sam yelled, as he cracked him on the forehead with the butt of his gun when he got too close. Then had to do it again, as the first smack had no effect. Even bound with zip ties, Gavin almost got the better of Sam until Dean intervened and shoved the screaming lunatic back onto the couch, holding him down and punching him until he finally quit struggling. None of the other guys intervened, they just shuffled away as best as they could from Gavin's flailing tantrum.

Having narrowly avoided being bitten on the face by the crazed thug, Dean had also had enough of the circus. "The buyer's name is Keith Haversham. _Sir_ Keith Haversham."

Bill looked bewildered. "Who?" He was batting so far out of his league it was almost pitiful

Dean snorted in derision. "You didn't even try to find out who you were working for?" He turned to Sam. "He works for the Ministry of Defense as some kind of under-secretary. He's also the last British Man of Letters left alive. Probably."

"And what…you hired him to kidnap me? _Again_? After everything I went through last time?"

"No Sammy it's not like that: I didn't hire him to kidnap you. I didn't hire him at all!" Sam went to turn away, but Dean took his arm and forced him back round to face him. "LISTEN to me, you stubborn son of a bitch! I put word around that I was in possession of a necklace with some serious magical properties. Real proper hoodoo. It was just meant to flush the bastard out so I could take him down before he killed you. I thought I had everything under control but without me knowing he must have hired these morons to take you as a bargaining chip."

"Cas – is this true?" No one else had noticed Cas standing just outside the small kitchen.

Dean jumped and turned around to his friend. "Tell him Cas – this was never supposed to happen!"

"It's true Sam." He stepped forwards. "Since you left us we have been working tirelessly to root out the remaining BMOL." He did the hand quotes thing that Dean had told him about months before. "Many of them sought revenge on you for the deaths of their colleagues two months ago. We've been steadily removing them from your path for weeks."

"Did you never wonder, Sammy, why no one ever came after you? Why you could stay in London and go about your new life…" _(Dean said this with no small tone of disgust)_ "…without anyone bothering you?"

"I…what?" Sam thoughts were in chaos. "I thought…"

"You thought what…that you could live right under their noses and they would be ok with that? Me and mom killed their best and brightest underneath that hotel, Ketch…Davies, Bevell. And afterwards you walked around on empty streets and rode on public busses - unarmed, unaware, like you were inviting them to take you out."

 _Empty streets and busses?_ "Have you been following me? You've been in London all this time?"

Cas nodded, ashamed at the deception. Dean stared forwards, defiant.

Sam was infuriated: their dedication to keeping him safe whilst at the same time ignoring his wishes conflicted the shit out of him.

He held up a hand. Two. He needed a time-out to think things through. Fleeing into the kitchen to get some space, the very last thing he expected was to collide with Lara, who was standing just inside the kitchen door. He jumped at the sudden shock of plowing into her, and grabbed her to keep them both upright.

"Shit sorry Sam!" Her broken nose was fixed and she had changed out of her stained office clothes into a t-shirt and jeans. "Castiel said the situation was under control and that I'd be safe. I had to come back and see if you were ok…"

"He shouldn't have done that!" His heart raced at the unanticipated sight of her.

"Oh thanks!" She said sarcastically.

"I meant – it's not totally safe here yet. There's still a lot of shit happening…"

"I know, I heard. And I'm ok Sam. Really." She reached out and cupped a hand to his cheek, her fingers like cool silk against hot skin. He was lost: in the feel of her, at her wanting to come back to see him. It took the sudden sound of a gunshot coming from the living room to bring him back to reality with a literal bang.


	16. Flashback - The tsunami hits

_Flashback chapter_

" _How long have you known that she's not my mom?"_

 _Words that had been smouldering under the surface ignited into fire as soon as they left his mouth. He saw Dean struggle against the blow, then slump in defeat._

" _Since you left for College."_

 _Sam wasn't sure what he had been expecting Dean to say. Maybe for him to look up in surprise, scorn etched into his eyes, and bluntly ask what the absolute fuck he was talking about. Or maybe for him to say that he had only just found out himself, that mom had literally only just told him three days ago and he didn't even believe it anyway. Instead, his brother had punched the air out of his lungs. College? That was like twelve, thirteen years ago!_

 _He sat down on the bed, winded. Mary wasn't his mom? She really truly_ wasn't _? No wonder dad had treated him differently to Dean. Why he always felt like he didn't fit. How the hell could Dean have kept something like this from him? Sam felt something crawling around underneath his rib cage. Like fire ants trying to eat their way out. He rubbed hard at his chest with bandaged hands, but the sensation only worsened. Dean looked alarmed, like Sam was about to have a heart-attack, then looked up at Cas, silently asking if his brother was ok. Cas's placating gesture said that he wasn't imminently about to die from sudden shock._

 _Sam felt like it though. His chest was burning with a thousand acidic questions that needed to get out. The intrinsic question was 'why didn't you tell me?', but that wasn't what he asked straightaway. The answer would only be bullshit anyway._

 _So he settled for the next biggest question, trying to keep a lid on the fury until his brother had spilled his guts on the entire story. "How did you find out?"_

" _By accident, I think." Dean shuffled uncomfortably on his ass, but didn't ask Sam to release the cuffs. Sam knew why. Dean would find it easier to admit the cold, hard truth under duress, rather than if he were to volunteer the information freely._

" _You think?"_

" _Around a month after you left, dad sent me to a storage hold to pick up an old lore book. It was almost empty, nothing in there except for a few hardbacks and a crate of old junk. Here's the thing - I don't know if he trusted me not to look around, or if he sent me there with half a hope I would sneak a look at what was at the bottom of the crate."_

" _And you looked."_

" _Of course I looked! It was a bunch of old letters in dad's handwriting – don't tell me you wouldn't!"_

" _That's really not the issue here Dean. What makes you think he wanted you to find them?"_

" _Why send me there otherwise? You ask me, that lore book was just an excuse to put me and those letters in the same place - he didn't even so much as glance at it when I got back." Dean sighed. "But he was mad at you for leaving Sam, you know he was. Madder than hell. I don't know his reasoning, but that's the only thing I can think of."_

" _You think him sending you to find those letters was what…some way of punishing me for leaving? Was he hoping you'd tell me?"_

" _Maybe. I don't know."_

" _You didn't talk to him about it?"_

" _I didn't bring it up Sammy, I wasn't going to have that kind of conversation with Dad!"_

" _You never spoke about them at all?" Sam asked, even though Dean's words rang true. Dad wasn't the easiest person to talk to, especially about something like this. His brother would sooner give up junk food or sex than talk to dad about something so explosive._

" _Nope. Never. I don't know if he even knew I knew. I mean, maybe he figured something was up – I was supposed to come straight back with the book but instead I just went to the nearest no-name town and spent two days trying to chemically redact the memory of what I just read. It didn't work."_

" _What did they say Dean?" The anticipation was like experiencing an anti-Christmas. Instead of getting something good, Sam knew he was getting a steaming heap of heartache, but still he leant forwards like a kid about to open his biggest present. "Who was dad writing to?"_

 _Dean brought his knees up, rubbed his forehead against the denim like he was still trying to erase the memory. "I can't do any more of this sober. You can't expect me to talk about this shit without a drink in my hand…"_

 _Dean's automatic go-to when things became difficult was always to get hammered. Not that Sam was going argue – getting hammered might help dull the emotional chaos. Or make it worse. He wasn't sure which, but didn't really care at this point. "You want one Cas?" The angel shook his head. The bottle of Tesco Scotch was on the desk, and Sam picked out a glass from underneath some Chinese cartons. He poured himself a seriously large measure, then gave the bottle to Cas, to give to Dean. He didn't care how childish it looked._

 _With a flicker of hurt in his eyes, Dean swallowed a good third of the amber liquid in one go. Sam let him take that drink, then was back on him, relentless. "So, the letters…"_

" _They were soppy love letters to mom, written after she died."_

 _Castiel spoke up first. "If they were deeply personal in nature then I really don't think your father would have been comfortable with you reading them."_

" _Oh and you'd know that how?" Dean lashed out defensively at Cas's disapproval._

 _Sam interrupted, agreeing with Cas. "Didn't you feel like a shit reading something so obviously private?"_

" _Of course I did! And then I got over it." Dean shrugged. "You want me to tell you what was in them, don't you Mr Hypocrite?"_

 _Sam's anger flared, he was a heartbeat away from spending more of Phil's money by throwing his whiskey tumbler though the hotel's glass window. Instead he swallowed it down with a good mouthful of scotch before asking, tensely: "What did they say?"_

 _Dean stared at the label on the bottle, like it would tell him what to say next. It didn't seem to provide him with the answer so he just drank instead. "The ones at the start, the ones not long after she died, they were mess. All kinds of guilt and shit, really heavy stuff. Then he started updating mom on me: my school grades, first time I held a sawed-off, that kind of thing." Dean began to stumble over his words. "It wasn't until you were about to start kindergarten, that he first mentioned anything about…this, about…you."_

 _The glass Sam was tightly gripping cracked. The alcohol soaked into his bandages, stinging the cuts on his fingers. He wanted to ignore it but the sharp pain cut through his mental fog and gave him pause. Be careful what you wish for, that's what they say, isn't it? He had done everything in his power to force this out of Dean, and now, suddenly, he didn't want to hear a single word of it anymore. Sam bitterly wished that Dean had kept on lying. In that moment he couldn't bear to look at his brother for giving in to his demands. Yes, he knew that Dean was suffering as much as he was, and that one kind word of forgiveness from Sam would be the first building block in putting all this back together. But he didn't. He was too mad at Dean for not telling him…and also, irrationally, for now finally telling him._

 _Startling Cas and Dean by suddenly leaping up and heading for his bag, Sam dug out the lock picking kit and went to work on the connecting door. The sodden bandages made it awkward, so he ripped them off and dropped them on the floor. This time when Sam entered the room, his only thoughts were on the woman who had died when he was just six months old. The woman who stomped her eldest son unconscious so that she would be the one to save Sam from that cell. Or, as a cynical thought intruded, so that her real son wouldn't have to die in order to save the cuckoo in the nest._

 _No, he thought, she wasn't like that! But how would he know? He didn't know anything about her, not really. Over the years, he had regularly dreamed about her, and had always pictured her a perfect mom. Flawless. Mary was utterly idolised by both her sons. Why should his fantasy of what she was like change just because she wasn't technically his mom anymore? The question of who his actual mom was surfaced like a shark's fin, before swimming away for the moment._

 _He wandered around the bedroom that was a much cleaner mirror of their own, taking in the faint scent of strawberry. He went into the bathroom and picked out the lipstick stained tissue from the waste can._

 _If she hadn't died saving him, if Dean had reached his cell door first, he would probably have never learned the truth. Sam would have cried on her shoulder at the loss of his brother, and she would have been stuck consoling the son that wasn't really hers. The thought left him shaking and nauseous and he couldn't get out of her room quick enough._

 _Walking back into their own bomb site of a room, Sam noticed Castiel had freed his brother's wrists. Dean had barely moved though, except to almost finish the bottle. He sat against the cold radiator as if it was giving off warmth._

" _Sam," Cas rose to meet him. "should I leave now? You and Dean still have many difficult things to discuss…"_

" _It's up to you." Sam shrugged. As far as he was concerned Cas was family, so anything that Dean had to say to him, he could also damn well say to the angel. Castiel looked so uncomfortable as he wavered, unsure of what would be best. In the end, he went into the bathroom to give them some privacy. He obviously didn't trust leaving them entirely on their own in case they injured one another._

 _Sam sat down on his bed. Cleared his throat. "First off, dad is my dad right? I mean he has to be. I'm a Winchester – I couldn't have been Lucifer's vessel otherwise…and the blood lock worked…"_

 _Dean looked up incredulous. He had the face on that Sam had hoped to see when he asked if Mary was his mom. "Of course dad is dad!"_

" _But I'm not a Campbell."_

" _You are." Dean saw Sam's confusion. "Look – it's complicated – let me tell you what I found, ok? And then what mom said..."_

" _So you were ok speaking to mom about this then?"_

" _Hey, I didn't want to! Wasn't ever going to. But as soon as we found out about the blood lock I had no choice. I saw her face when we found out only a 'blood of my blood' sacrifice would work. I mean it Sam, it wrecked her that she couldn't be the one to get you out." Dean looked at Sam in all seriousness. "Whatever you might think, she loved you. She was your mom in all the ways that counted…"_

" _She knew me six months Dean! Maybe less! How could she have possibly looked at me the way she looked at you? Especially as I was a reminder of Dad cheating on her. I mean he must have cheated on her, right?"_

" _No! Well, yes…but it's not like that Sam! Just shut up for five minutes and let me finish a goddamn sentence already." Dean finally stood up. The combination of booze and sitting cramped up for so long caused him to sway. Sam made no move to help him as he stumbled over to the desk and leant against it for support._

" _You wanted me to talk…so here it is in all its horrendous glory. Merry fucking Christmas Sam." Dean didn't try to hide his bitterness. "A year or so after they had me, mom said they tried for another kid. And tried, and tried. Nothing happened for over a year so they went to a doc. There was some kind of complication that she didn't go into. They tried a few different kinds of things but nothing took." Dean ran a hand over his mouth, his face. "I was around three when dad came home one night in a real strange mood. Belligerent, was the word mom used. They had a fight, dad walked out. When he came back a couple of nights later mom said he was hungover, a bit spaced, but mostly ok. Apart from them not getting pregnant, things were good for a while until… until nine months later when some distant cousin of mom came and confessed she just had John's baby."_

"… _who…what?" Sam's throat was dry._

" _Her name was Shirley. Shirley Watson." Dean's also found himself getting hoarse, so he lubricated his voice with the remaining scotch. "She was some cousin of a cousin of mom. They were friends when they were kids but she married young and moved out to Florida. It took a run of bad luck, and I mean real bad luck, to get her to move back to Lawrence."_

 _Shirley_ _Watson_. _Shirley Watson was his real mom's name._ _It sounded so weird, so wrong._ _"What happened to her?"_

" _In the space of about a year her life fell apart. First off, her husband died. He got buried under a mountain of grain he was transporting from a warehouse. Suffocated." Dean shuddered at the thought. "Then… then her baby girl got taken by a local serial killer."_

"… _she had a baby?" It was barely a whisper._

" _Sam…I'm…" Dean was struggling. "She had a daughter. Almost two when she died. Your half-sister I suppose. Which kinda makes her mine too, sort of." It didn't, but Dean wanted it to. "They caught the guy but he killed himself in his cell before his conviction. He confessed everything to a lawyer, but mom didn't go deep into the gory details. After that, Shirley lost her job then her house. Most of her mind too, by the sound of it. She had an elderly father who brought her home to Kansas to look after her. When mom found out her old friend was back they had a try at reconnecting, but Shirley was pretty broken. Then, to the surprise of everyone, Shirley got pregnant. Wouldn't say how, and wouldn't say who the father was. It was only once she gave birth that she told mom everything. She was frightened – nothing about the pregnancy seemed normal and she was convinced she was going to die at any moment. Mom was shocked, obviously, at finding out what her and John and done. Dad denied, denied and denied some more that he had run around with another woman. That was all he wrote in those letters to mom. Even though she was long dead he begged Mary to believe that he hadn't cheated. But Shirley was insistent that the baby was John's. You were about three days old when she all but shoved you into mom's arms and ran out of the house." Dean went to reach out to touch Sam, then pulled back. "Three…three days later she was dead. A car wreck. I'm sorry man, I really am."_

 _If Dean was expecting Sam to get all tearful and weepy, he was mistaken. The heat inside Sam was burning so hot it was forging his emotions into something like steel. Every word Dean was saying stoked those fires hotter._

" _Looking back now, it's pretty obvious that everyone was being manipulated by outside forces. I mean – those angel dickbags had you destined Sam, same as me. And when mom couldn't get pregnant for a second time you still needed to be born." Dean was on a roll as he put everything together. "I think…I think that dad got possessed the weekend that mom said he seemed off. He wouldn't have known what it was – especially if whatever possessed him was careful. He must have been as confused as hell when Shirley turned up blaming him. And I truly believe that Shirley's run of bad luck wasn't bad luck at all – it was all designed to put her back in Kansas as some kind of backup incubator in case Mary couldn't conceive. She was used, same as dad was."_

 _It all made a twisted kind of sense. Sickening but all too plausible. Dean carried on. "…And that's not all. Mom said when Shirley was pregnant with you she told her she kept waking up with blood in her mouth…"_

 _Sam was repulsed. "...You..you think…?"_

" _Yeah, I do. The yellow eyed bastard was feeding Shirley blood while she was pregnant with you."_

 _It was all too much. The information overload, combined with the sheer horror of it all, made Sam want to throw up. He ran to the bathroom, pushed Castiel out into the hallway, and crouched over the pan as a cold sweat gripped him. Vomit spilled out, hot and sour. He retched and retched until his stomach ached and his throat burned._

 _As soon as he could stand, he wiped his face and went straight back to Dean. Sam knew he needed time to process the big stuff – there were just too many revelations and implications to deal with now. The one thing – the only thing – he could focus on clearly was Dean._

" _You knew this whole time." His voice was raw, but steady. "Some of it you just learnt, I get that. But you knew enough. When you only had a year left, when you were in Hell, you knew. Even when you were a demon you knew. Each and every time you died, or nearly died, I would have been left forever never knowing. And it wasn't just you that kept me ignorant – no one told me. Not dad, not Azazel, not Lucifer. Why?"_

 _Dean winced at the deceptively calm tone of Sam's voice. "I can't answer that Sam. I mean – I can only speak for me. I didn't tell you to protect you. To keep the memory of mom a good thing in your life. What good would have come from you knowing so tragic? Dad probably felt the same way. And when I wasn't me...when I was a demon, I guess it just wasn't an issue. Your problems weren't on my radar." Dean's outpouring of honesty was like pus erupting from a boil. "I don't know why anyone else didn't say anything, I really don't. Maybe Lucifer didn't know? I don't think the angels knew – Cas didn't."_

" _It's true," agreed Cas from the hallway. "The dreadful truth behind your conception is a huge surprise to me. I had no idea any of this occurred and I don't think heaven did either. It's not common knowledge."_

 _Sam wasn't convinced. "Azazel was a sadistic son of a bitch – why wouldn't he have told me when he was possessing dad? If he orchestrated all this…he showed me mom…Mary dying – why didn't he tell me the whole story?"_

" _Because it didn't suit him to? Because he was an asshole? I don't know Sammy, and I don't much care. As far as I'm concerned he did us a favour by not telling. Yeah – don't give me those angry eyes Sam, I'm telling it straight. You didn't need to know."_

" _I…what?" Sam was speechless._

" _Dad was right not to tell you. I was right not to tell you. Sorry if that doesn't fit in with your righteous indignation, but it's the truth."_

" _The FUCK…?" Just days ago he was locked inside a prison, the target of systematic torture and cruelty. And yet during those three weeks of captivity he never came close to the frustration he was feeling right now. "SERIOUSLY!? You don't think I had a right to know who my real mom was?"_

" _Everything that happened with Shirley was utterly miserable and highly fucked up, so no. I did what I had to do to make sure you didn't carry all this shit around with you."_

" _THAT WASN'T YOUR DECISION TO MAKE!" Sam was furious, physically shaking with anger. "How the fuck can you stand there and say I didn't have a right to know? She was my MOM!"_

" _And you were better off without knowing it! I've had a long time to think about the rights and wrongs of this – and if you hadn't forced this on me I would never have told you. EVER."_

 _Dean was resolute, entirely unapologetic and that was the defining moment Sam knew he had to leave. Whatever happened from now on, they weren't ever getting past this. Dean's autonomous decision – and his utmost certainty that he had done the right thing was unforgivable. Something inside Sam suddenly broke and the raging fire he had been feeling since seeing that photo of mo…Mary burnt itself away. Now all he felt was a kind of numb iciness towards his brother._

 _Sam had one last question before leaving. "Where are the letters now?"_

" _I burned them after dad died. It's a shame mom never got to read them but who knew she would come back from the dead? I told her about them and she understood why I did it. Even SHE agreed Sam."_

" _You burned them. You took something that wasn't yours and burnt it. I can't even…" He picked up his duffel bag and shoved the remaining bandaids, painkillers and antibiotics into it. Dean went to grab his arm, but Sam shoved him hard, pinning his brother back against the wall by his throat._

" _Don't touch me Dean. Don't talk to me, or come near me ever again." His voice was cold. "You know what those letters would have meant to me. Letters about me, written in dad's words. You don't even think I had a right to know who my mom really was! And that's why we're done." Sam's bloody fingers had left imprints on his brother's neck. He shoved Dean one last time as he stepped back away from him to pick up the bag. "We. Are. Done."_

 _He looked at Castiel as he left the room, but was really speaking to Dean. "If you care anything at all about my 'half-brother' Cas, you'll keep him away from me." He didn't look at Dean as he dropped the barb. "I can't guarantee if I ever see him again I won't do him some permanent damage."_

" _Sam!" Castiel was shocked at the coldness in his friend's eyes._

" _Don't contact me again. Either of you. Just…just leave me the hell alone."_

 _Sam walked out of the room, and out into the streets of London, certain he would never see his brother again._


	17. Archie, Archie, give me your answer do

Sorry it's been so long since my last post. My job has changed and I'm now suuuuuper busy. This is an extra-long chapter to make up for the wait.

Sam recognized the loud and unmistakable sound of Dean's gun firing at close range. He turned into the living room with a "What the hell?" Gavin was lying on the floor with blood seeping into his t-shirt from a shoulder wound. Dean was standing over him, a restraining boot on top of his chest. He was pointing his gun at the thug's head.

Gavin squirmed on the filthy carpet, both hands still bound behind his back. "Where did he come from? Who is he? He came out of the wall…" Gavin's face was white with shock.

Dean explained to Sam. "The goddamn lunatic went feral when he saw Cas. Tried to charge me again." He spoke down to Gavin. "Consider yourself damn lucky it's just a flesh wound – try anything like that again and I'll put you down for good."

Bill spat poison at Dean. "You know who you're threatening? Think you're Johnny Big Bollocks 'cos you got a shooter in your hand? You need to fuck off back to your own manor double-quick 'cos as soon as I get free I'm gonna cut your fucking gonads off, you gobby yank..."

Dean snickered. "Maybe it's because I only understood every third word you just said, but are you serious?" He looked around and saw no-one was laughing except for him. "You ARE serious! You do realize I'm pointing a gun at your butt-ugliest pal?"

"It's his brother," clarified Sam.

"Ahhh…well that explains a lot…yeah – same matching red throbbing vein just up by your foreheads, here." Dean poked Gavin in the head with the gun. "The ugly stick that hit you guys must have worked overtime getting that detail just right."

"Says the pretty-boy whose own brother can't stand him…" Bill hissed. It was the wrong thing to say at the wrong time, and even Sam winced. Dean's face turned red as he contemplated battering the shit out of Bill, but a panic-stricken Gavin called out first. "Fuck's sake you bunch of fuckers, shut the fuck up! I'm fucking bleeding out here!"

"So?" Dean was mad. "Who gives a fuck?" Castiel stepped forward, but Dean held up a hand. "Cas, I think the least our silver-tongued friend here deserves is to heal up the same way he was gonna let Sam's girlfriend heal up after he broke her nose. As in – nope."

Nope was right. Gavin was a nasty piece of work – the sadistic look on his face when he had stood over Lara with his knife at her throat would stay in Sam's memory for a long time. In fact – seeing as Lara was the one he messed with, she deserved a say in this. Sam called for her to come out of the kitchen. Gavin yelped, and Bill recoiled in surprise at seeing Lara appear in their living room wearing completely different clothes and with her previously damaged nose intact. "What the hell?" His voice was high pitched. "What's going on? Where's everyone coming from?" He almost broke his neck trying so hard to look into the kitchen to see if anyone else would appear.

Lara hovered behind Cas, hesitant to get too close to the thugs that had terrorized her. "Is…he…Gavin in danger of bleeding out?" She asked, just about able to say his name out loud.

Castiel answered. "No. His wound is superficial. Painful, certainly, but not life-threatening. Unlike the arm wound Sam suffered at their hands, which _would_ have killed him." It appeared Cas also wasn't feeling too charitable towards Gavin.

"You're sure he won't die?"

"You can trust me Lara, I won't let that happen. Even after everything he did to you and Sam."

"In that case he can wait for a bit." She looked at Sam, wanting to justify herself. "I'm gonna have nightmares for the rest of my life because of this vile nutter. It'll do him good to learn what it's like to be a victim for a change."

"Fine with me…" Sam reassured.

"What are you doing?" Bill sounded desperate. "Call an ambulance before he bleeds to death!"

"Like you were gonna do for me?" Sam had had enough of Bill's whining. "We aren't calling anyone. Not until we leave anyway, and that might be a while."

Sam went over to young Alfie with his knife out. Alfie's eyes went wide, and Archie almost overbalanced trying to stand up. Sam pushed the uncle back down and then quickly cut the zip ties from his nephew's wrists. "Find something to wrap around the wound. Make sure you put pressure on it." He looked at Bill. "Hey – I know what will help him – a nice cup of tea maybe? You seemed to think that would cure my arm." He rolled up a bloody sleeve and flexed his elbow, showing Bill the unblemished skin.

Bills mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. "I…don't understand…"

Sam leant forwards to face him, almost nose to nose. "First correct thing you've said all day. You don't understand a goddamn thing that's happening here and you know what? I don't care to explain any of it to you. Guess I'm not that civilized after all." He stood away as Alfie grabbed a sweatshirt from the back of a chair and began to wrap it around Gavin's shoulder.

"I've got a right to know what's going on in my own flat," complained Bill.

"Um…no…you lost any rights when you kidnapped me and Lara to extort my brother."

"I said it before and I'll say it again – you were fucking lucky that we got the job instead of others I could mention. My crew did the bare minimum to achieve maximum results. Stop acting like a pussy - no one died or got properly hurt…"

"No one got hurt?" Sam was amazed at Bill's gall. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"It was all superficial – the blood and that. To get Dean to hand over the necklace. You had food, water…and other than a bloody nose, your girlfriend was well looked after. There's other outfits would have done all sorts to a pretty girl like her…"

"You mean it, don't you?" Sam came closer. "You actually think you're some kind of superstar because you didn't rape someone? You want a medal for that?"

"Why not?" Bill was unrepentant to the last and Sam was done with him.

"Because you're trash. The lot of you. Dean – let's get these guys into the 'pleasuredome' – I can't stand looking at this douchebag any longer."

"What's the pleasuredome?" Dean asked.

"Oh nothing…just the charming little guest room that Bill provided for me and Lara. According to Bill he's hosted plenty of visitors there – but I don't think he ever got the chance to spend any time in there himself."

"Then lead the way, brother of mine. Come on fellas…up, up, up! On your feet!"

Sam wasn't happy with Dean's cozy repartee, but he let it go for now. All was not forgiven, but there was a time and a place to remind Dean that Sam had meant every single word the last time they spoke. Sam grabbed Gavin under the arms and hauled him to his feet.

As Sam and Dean herded the four men into the nauseating bedroom, Dean whistled at the sheer volume of blood. "Jeez – whose is all this?"

"Mainly mine. Bit of Lara's, bit of Bill's. No harm done though, eh Bill? No one got hurt, did they?" Sam took great pleasure in cuffing Archie and Gavin to the bar above the mattress. Gavin was entirely reluctant to get down on the mattress, and it took a lot of gun waving and threatening words before he finally lay down. The chrome bar that Sam had been chained to was reserved for Bill. Alfie, he left free for now.

"At least get me my fags?" pleaded Archie. "You know – my cigarettes. C'mon guys – I done nothing to you…I never laid a finger on you or the woman, Sam…"

"Tell you what..." Dean answered amicably. "Tell me the time and place of tomorrow's meet up with that Haversham asshole, and I'll personally go get 'em for you. I'll even leave you uncuffed so you can smoke as many of your cancer sticks as you like."

Archie looked at Bill, who was red-faced and huffing with his arms stretched up over his head. "Tell 'em fucking nothing!" He answered, viciously.

"That's the way you want to play this?" Said Sam. "You want to be difficult?"

"Why the fuck not? Disrespect me and this is what happens." He was straining hard against the cuffs.

Sam sighed. "Fair enough. I'm pretty sure I can find out myself, anyway, without your help. Enjoy the pleasuredome guys, see you tomorrow." Sam made to leave.

"Hang on!" Bill cried out. "You gonna leave us chained up all night? I can't even take a piss like this!"

Sam ventured over to Bill. Stepped up close enough to smell his breath. "Like you left me, you mean? You tortured me and now you want to talk about respect?" Sam pulled the small knife out of his trouser pocket and smiled "How about I really make us even, and cut your arm wide open? Return the favor, as it were." Bill's red face grew pale, and Sam wondered if he was going to stroke out.

"Oh don't cry – I'm not going to cut you." Sam put the knife away in disgust.

"Well I am!" Dean exclaimed. "He tortured you? Step aside Sam, and let me introduce him to my less pleasant side."

"He's not worth it Dean. Besides – I've got other things to be getting on with." Sam turned around. "Alfie – you're with me and Dean. Outside, now!" Reluctantly, Dean took Sam's lead and grabbed a hold of the kids arm. Dean dragged him out of the room, to the cries of his enraged uncle. Sam slammed the door shut and bolted it.

The kid was nervous – no doubt about it, he almost tripped over his own feet as he clattered down the corridor. It was obvious he was wondering why he had been singled out. Sam kept that tension ramped up by not saying a word to him, until he had been forced into Sam's chair by the coffee table. Dean went and stood behind him, and Alfie visibly cringed and hunkered down.

Sam looked around at Lara, who was still over by the kitchen talking to Cas. He really didn't want to do this in front of her – show her the side of him he had tried to run away from. But all running had done so far was bite him in the ass.

"The meet up tomorrow." Sam was abrupt with the kid. "When and where?"

Alfie stayed sullen, so Dean placed a hand on his shoulder. Gripped it until the kid yelped out loud. "I dunno!" Dean gripped harder as the boy wriggled. "Ow! I swear it, arsehole, let go! I don't know shit!"

Sam raised an eyebrow at him. "But your uncle knows, right?" Alfie gave Sam his best evil-eyes death-stare.

"I'll take that as a yes-he-does. So tell me Alfie – how do we get him to talk without us hurting you or him, eh?"

Alfie squirmed and picked at Dean's fingers trying to loosen them.

"Seriously Alfie you need to think, because if he doesn't tell us willingly he will have to tell us _un_ -willingly. You know what I mean by that? I think you do…you must've seen plenty of that kind of thing go down in this flat…"

Alfie had. "Why don't you look on Bill's phone, maybe? I know you've still got it, so shouldn't you check on there first, before getting all gangster?" The boy had a point. Sam ignored the teen's angsty-sarcasm and tossed Dean the cell. Dean carefully scrolled through messages, before leaning forwards and speaking directly into the cringing boy's ear.

"Alfie, man that was a good try but unlucky for you, you don't get the cigar."

"Come on - last chance to help you and your uncle out here?" Sam really did want to give him every chance, but he clammed up again. So he had to change tack. "How old are you Alfie? Sixteen? Seventeen?"

Alfie looked at him scornfully. "What d'you want to know that for, you fucking weirdo…"

"I'm just trying to find out if you're a man or a boy. Which is it?"

"I aint no boy. I'm fucking eighteen man, got my own wheels and a fit bird."

"Really?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, really. Why – you only interested in kids?" He taunted.

Sam sighed. Time for plan B. "Ok. Dean – take the 'man' into the other bedroom and secure him tight." Alfie's eyes suddenly went wide.

"What's your play Sammy?"

Sam bristled at his brother's use of the familiar nickname. "Just do it, ok?"

Dean was starting to get visibly pissed at Sam's cold shoulder. Castiel also frowned, but before Dean could say anything Cas stepped forward and grabbed hold of the teen's arm. "I'll go with you. I've a feeling this one could be a handful." With a look that could melt lead, Dean turned his back on Sam and grabbed Alfie's other arm.

The teen yelled some very colorful obscenities as he was forcibly dragged back down the corridor by Cas and Dean. That was fine with Sam – he wanted Archie to hear the fear in his nephew's voice.

Sam took the moment to speak to Lara. He needed to explain what was going to happen here, and give her the chance to leave if she wanted. As he stepped up to her she took hold of his bloodied shirt sleeve.

"You ok Sam?"

He was taken aback at her concern for him. "Am I ok? Are _you_?"

"Yeah, mostly. So long as you don't count being totally weirded out. Um… Sam, you really weren't kidding about being mad at your brother, were you?"

"You noticed that huh?"

"You're not exactly hiding it." She shrugged. "Obviously I don't know what went on between you – but from what I can see it doesn't look like he wants to fight. The opposite, in fact. Is there no way the two of you can reconnect?"

Normally Sam would have lashed out at the interference, but Lara genuinely was just trying to help. "Honestly? I don't think so. Look, at the moment I'm more concerned about you anyway. You shouldn't be here - you should be at home taking it easy. Or at work doing whatever that important thing was you had to do today."

"Yeah, like I could concentrate on giving a PowerPoint to the board to get them to upgrade to a new server system." She laughed at herself. "Ridiculous. It seemed so important – I was up half the night preparing. Now it's a joke that I spent so much time on something so irrelevant..."

"Irrelevant?" Sam was troubled. "No – don't think that!" He took hold of her shoulders. "This is what I'm talking about…this… _here_ …it's not normal. Please don't let what happened today change who you are. What _you_ do is normal and right and you can't ever think otherwise!"

"If that's true then why is it again that you're so desperate to go meet this guy tomorrow?" She looked sad. "If you're not going to reunite with your brother then why are you still here?"

Struck by Lara's words, Sam realized it was true - he could just… _leave_. Why _was_ he even still here? Lara was safe, and Dean and Cas could easily take care of these guys. If they'd truly been so busy mopping up the remaining British Men of Letters on their own, then they could surely take down the last man standing without his help? And he didn't know how much longer he could hang around Dean before the not-even scabbed over wounds flared up again. Time apart hadn't helped him see what had Dean done as any less of a betrayal – it was only his brother's (and Cas's) steadfast refusal to leave London – to keeping him safe without him even knowing they did it - that made him think hard about what he really wanted. It wasn't only his body that had been worked over today –his emotions had taken a beating too.

If he walked out of this apartment now, where would he go? Back to work? The thought of going back to the bank unexpectedly filled him with a cold sweat. London – and the mindless drone work – had been a way of him healing from what Dean, and the British Men of Letters had done to him. Stability, a steady pay check and routine had been like laying a frozen bag of peas across his inflamed mental state. But the last few hours had re-exposed his former life as a hunter – and forced him to evaluate _why_ he did what he did. Ultimately, it came down to the fact he felt like he owed it to Dean and Cas to see this through. And to see Bill and his gang brought down _hard_.

"Lara - if you'll let me I'll buy you a good bottle of wine and a steak dinner and then tell you the whole depressing story of why I've got to stay. But it's going to have to wait until all this is done."

She looked at him seriously. "I get we don't have time for the full shebang right now, but I'm trusting you to tell me everything when this is over. And I'll hold you to that wine…a good bottle. No cheap crap…" She smiled, then looked up to see Dean coming back into the room. "Sam – what are you going to do to that horrible little shit Alfie? You're not going to beat him up or anything are you?"

Sam crinkled his eyes. "Not been here long enough to totally get English sarcasm. Did you want me to beat him up, or not…?"

"No, you silly sod. He's a proper little shit bag, but it's the rest of them that deserve a punching more."

"Not sure Cas will agree..." Dean loudly joined in their conversation. "The slippery little fucker can throw a punch…" Castiel followed him into the room, gingerly rubbing at his jaw.

Sam stifled a smile before Cas could see it, then looked back at Lara. "I'm not gonna hurt the kid, don't worry. But I am gonna make it sound like it. I just need to convince his uncle to tell me where the meet up is tomorrow."

She nodded. "Ok. Go do what you got to do." Her trust in him almost made him reach over to kiss her. And then run the hell away so that she was well out of the sphere of tragedy that cursed his life. She didn't notice his wobble and carried on chatting. "Meanwhile I'm going to search this nasty kitchen for something to drink. All that talk of wine made me thirsty."

"If you find the good stuff, count me in." Dean smiled at her, full wattage. "Or even the cheap stuff, I'm not fussy."

Lara nodded and went into the kitchen, loudly rattling through cupboards. Dean looked at Sam with a grin. "I like her Sam. And it's pretty obvious she likes you…"

Sam thought about altogether ignoring Dean's awkward attempt at small talk, then changed his mind. "Yeah, well we're not together."

"You mean you never made a move?"

Sam wanted to say ' _it's none of your damn business'_. Instead he said "I've only known her two weeks. Before today, we probably said all of about ten words to each other."

"… _and_? When there's chemistry, there's chemistry! Who needs words, anyway?"

"I do, Dean." Sam was getting frustrated. "Anyway, can we get back on track? Bill's will never talk, and neither will Gavin. But Archie? I think with the right leverage – aka Alfie, he will."

"Sam…it was you these bastards fucked with, so it's your play. But if the Marlboro-Lite Man in there doesn't spill then things are going to get messy real quick. Haversham is the last Man of Letters alive who tried to have you murdered and I'm not letting him get away. Even if it means the pleasuredome gets a lot bloodier. And I mean a LOT." Unwavering determination burned through Dean's green eyes, and Sam's heart chose that moment to betray him with a sudden ache at how much he had missed his fiercely protective brother. He forced it down.

"Let me go do this then." Sam quickly outlined his plan, before picking up a rickety dining chair and carrying it into the other bedroom. Dean and Cas stayed behind with Lara.

Alfie was sat on the floor, tied to an old water pipe. He would have panicked and run if he could, at the terrifying sight of Sam holding a chair above his head, but Dean had him bound too tight. He wasn't gagged though, and he screamed as Sam brought the chair crashing down against the wall next to him. Other than a few minor splinters (to both him _and_ Sam), the teen was completely unharmed. Sam then picked up a chair leg and started battering the wall and the floor around him. He was making a lot of noise and Alfie's terror helped provide the remaining sound effects.

The scene set, Sam shoved an old t-shirt into the boy's mouth so that he couldn't ruin the fake-out, and then walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. He waited in the hallway a couple of minutes, letting the silence sink in before going into the pleasuredome. As he entered the bedroom, the three men – who had been talking in furious loud whispers - quickly shut up. Sam forced himself to look like he was about to have a panic attack. "Um – Archie, I'm not gonna lie to you…we've got a bit of a problem." Bill started shouting and yelling as Sam walked past him without even a glance in his direction.

"What… _what_?" Archie asked, as Sam uncuffed him from the wall.

"Just…you need to come with me…it's Alfie…he…" Sam stopped talking and re-cuffed Archie's hands behind his back. He saw Bill and Gavin shoot worried glances at each other. "I'll explain everything, but you need to come with me now."

Archie couldn't get out of the room fast enough, didn't even look back at the two mates he was leaving behind. Chomping at the bit, as Sam locked the bedroom door behind him he went to try and get into the other bedroom. Sam, instead, pushed him down the hallway and towards Dean and Cas.

Sam waited until they were all the way into the room before letting Dean take over. "Archie…your name's Archie right?"

"The fuck?" Archie was anxious, his breathing shallow. "Yes…Archie…whatever. What's going on? Where's my nephew?"

"Thing is Archie, you might want to take a seat."

"No, no I'm alright – just tell me…" Sam pushed him down onto the couch, anyway.

Dean coughed. Looked down at his feet, scraped at his fingernails, gazed anywhere but Archie's eyes. "Thing is….thing is we got a bit rough with Alfie. A bit too rough. We didn't mean to, but he fought back."

Archie's voice trembled. "What…what have you _done_?"

Dean finally looked at him, putting some urgency into his voice. "He's in a bit of trouble and I reckon we need to call an ambulance. Like, right _now_."

Alfie stood up, panicking. His forehead was pale and sweaty. "Do it then!"

This time Sam spoke. Slowly and deliberately. "If we did ring for the paramedics, my brother and I would need to leave before they arrive." He paused. "And if we go now, it means we won't get to find out where Sir Haversham is supposed to be meeting Bill tomorrow..."

There was a silence.

"You see where I'm going with this? I don't want the kid to die, and I know it sounds cold, but we aren't leaving here until we get the meet up details…"

"You're lying. You're mother-fucking lying." Archie was angry and confused. "I've been in this game a long time and I know a kidder when I see one…"

"Man, I really wish we were." Sam went behind him and uncuffed him. "Believe me…I got no love for you or your psycho friends, but I that doesn't mean I wanted Alfie to suffer like this…"

Archie rubbed his jaw like it was giving him pain. He went to head for the room, but Dean gently held him back. The older Winchester was good – Sam could almost see tears in his eyes. "Cas and Lara are in there with him now and they need space to work. She knows a bit of first aid but the boy needs more help than band aids and sterile wipes." He handed a sweating Archie his cigarettes and a lighter. "C'mon pal – calm yourself down and have a smoke. You need a second to think things through. But only a second, because I don't think the boy has a lot of time to waste…"

Archie lit up, with shaking hands. "I…I don't know if you're playing me…" He dragged deeply then absently he moved his hand down to his left arm and began rubbing it. Archie made a weird moaning noise then suddenly dropped his cigarette to the floor. He clutched at his chest, face twisted in pain.

"Shit!" Dean jumped up to catch the guy before he fell. "Cas! Get out here!"

"What the hell?" Sam didn't know what was suddenly happening right in front of him. "Is he having a heart-attack? Dean?"

"I don't know, I think so! CAS!"

"Archie – its ok – we were making it up…Alfie's ok – he really is!" Sam tried to ease Archie's anxiety but it was too late – he saw the light fade from the man's eyes before he'd even got the first word out.

Castiel was out of the kitchen in seconds, with Lara right behind him. Cas grabbed Archie from Dean's arms and laid him down onto the floor, before looking up at the boys, shock evident in his blue eyes.

"He's…he's _dead_."

Anyone needs a Cockney to US translation just let me know! :-)


	18. Dial ‘D’ for Murder

Castiel and Sam immediately dropped to their knees over Archie's prone body.

"Do something – Cas help him!"

Castiel touched both hands to Archie's chest for maybe five seconds. "It's too late to heal him – he's gone."

"I don't…what?" Sam sat back, shaken.

"He just had catastrophic heart failure."

"No…Cas try again…please!"

Castiel's direct gaze bored into Sam's. "There was nothing anyone could have done to save him: even if he had been in a hospital he wouldn't have survived. This man had terrible heart disease and his death was inevitable."

Sam refused to listen. "But did we trigger it? Did I do this?"

"With such significant damage this was always going to happen." Cas replied. "The stress he just experienced may only have hastened his death by a month or two."

"So I did." Sam spoke quietly. "We killed him."

"No, we didn't!" Dean, being Dean, deflected straight into anger. "You heard Cas – his arteries were fubar long before we came along." He crouched down to Sam's level. "Did you forget this bastard kidnapped you? Tortured you? The dick doesn't deserve your sympathy."

"Its not like that! I get he was one of the bad guys. But we did kill him, just the same as if I'd put a bullet into his chest."

"That's total bullshit." Dean stood swiftly, grabbing hold of Sam and pulling him up. "It's not the same thing – not even close. The only thing he had in his chest was the black tar that he put there himself. Don't give me that look Sammy - I'm not the one who forced him to smoke sixty a day!"

"I get that but…"

"There is no but! C'mon Sam, do you think he would have sobbed his diseased-ridden heart out if it had been YOU that had died whilst they were turning you into ground beef…?" Dean pulled at Sam's bloodied shirt sleeve. "No, course he wouldn't. Truth be told the only thing I'm pissed at is that he went belly up before he could talk."

Sam yanked his sleeve away from Dean's grip. Looking around, he saw his brother's cold logic take hold of the room. Castiel clearly shared Dean's opinion. Lara nodded, though she was still reeling at the sight of someone literally dropping down dead in front of her.

She looked up at Sam as an alarming thought broke through her shock. "Oh god, what do we tell Alfie?"

Dean spoke, low and raw. "The real question is, DO we tell Alfie?"

"What? We've got to!" She shuddered. "I mean – this is really, really fucking awful. And I mean really awful. But you didn't mean for him to die…it WAS an accident…"

"See Sam – even your girl agrees with me. This wasn't on us."

Sam had a final attempt at being the only conscience in the room. "His family isn't gonna see it that way…"

"You'll get no argument with me on that one Sammy, they'll want to flay us alive." That gave him an idea. "So maybe we can play it to our advantage? Maybe when they see him lying there and they think we did it, they'll know we mean business. They might just fess up straight away to stop our psycho asses from killing them too."

"Good idea...except our last bluff - which was pretty much the exact same plan, didn't work out so well did it?" Sam couldn't help with the sarcasm as he pointed at Archie's dead body.

"As I recall that was your idea. Now we're gonna use my genius to notch it up a couple of levels. I say we hide the fact he died by cigarette, and stick a knife in his belly. Couple of times. Make it look like we tortured and killed him good and bloody."

"Dean!" Sam was disgusted. "That's just…just…" He didn't know how to finish the sentence.

"Jesus, Sam." Dean looked disappointed. "A couple months of civilian life and that stick managed to work its way up your ass up even higher. What difference does it make to Archie if he takes a knife to the gut? He's already dead! Aint like he's gonna feel anything. Since when were you so squeamish?"

Sam bristled at the insult so Dean changed tactic. "Look, what's done is done. He's dead and that's not gonna change any time soon. So let's use the bucket that Archie kicked to our advantage and wrap this thing up."

Sam gave up arguing. The walls of the apartment were closing in on him – all he wanted to do was leave as soon as possible. His shoulders slumped. "This has got to be the first time in the history of, well…ever, that someone's intentionally made 'natural causes' look like a homicide."

Dean grinned at Sam's capitulation. "Murder we wrote!" He squinted one eye and looked around the room, picturing how he would set up the perfect maniacal stabbing scene. He ignored Sam's mutterings of '…even for you this is something else…'

With the debate over, Cas went over to the front door. "Um Sam…?" Lara whispered, when she saw the angel conversing with what looked like the wall. "Who's Castiel talking to?"

Sam looked over and saw what she meant. "Probably a Reaper."

"A what now?"

"A Reaper," answered Dean distractedly. "Come to take Archie's sorry ass off to Hell."

"A Reaper. As in the Grim Reaper? Black cloak, hood? Scythe? The 'Salmon Mousse'…?" She made air quotes at that last bit. Then looked shamefaced as she realised she had just made a dumb joke in front of a dead man. A man that Dean was about to mutilate.

"Kinda but not quite," Dean explained, baffled at the reference. Must be a British thing. "There's lots of reapers and they work for the main man - Death. Worked for Death." He coughed, then lowered his voice in case the Reaper was listening in. "And even he only had the scythe. No cloak going on, although there was a ring..."

"A ring? Do I ask…?" She looked from Dean to Sam. "Should I ask…?"

Sam shook his head. "Um - let's save that one for another day, ok?"

They stepped away from Archie's body when Castiel came back over. "I asked the Reaper to reassure Archie that his nephew is safe and well and that we had entirely lied about his near-fatal beating. I also apologised for the forthcoming…messiness…"

"I don't suppose he was grateful enough to spill where tomorrow's meet up is, did he?" Dean asked sarcastically (but not a little unhopefully).

"No, he did not. The Reaper wouldn't repeat Archie's response back to me."

"Mmm." Dean went back to plotting out his stage.

Lara pulled Sam away from earshot. "This is… I don't know what this is. Crazy? I don't feel right doing this to the kid – he'll never get over seeing his uncle with a knife in his belly."

He held her hand. Probably a bit too tightly. "I don't agree with what Dean is planning. Not entirely, anyway. But maybe Alfie won't need to see all of the… you know. Hopefully Bill or Gavin will just break straight away and then Cas can fly Alfie straight outside."

"He'll know what happened though, won't he? He'll hear about what was done to his uncle."

Sam sighed. "Yeah, he will. And he'll never really get over it. Look, Lara, why don't you leave now, before all the gory stuff happens? You don't need to see this either."

"Oh, I want to stay about as much as I want a tooth filled, but I'm in this now – I need to know, in real-time what's going on. I think it would stress me out more if I just stayed home fretting. Can you understand that? And don't worry if you can't, 'cause I don't entirely either."

He understood. Dry mouthed at the thought of what was coming next, he asked her: "Say - did you ever find that drink in the kitchen?"

"Oh yep - tins of cider and beer in the fridge. Loads. Make mine a Strongbow, I don't need a glass. Not one of their filthy ones, anyway."

Sam motioned to Dean, and then went into the kitchen. He opened the fridge to find nothing in there except cans of varying types of alcohol, and what looked like the remains of a wrapped-up kebab. The inside of the fridge smelled like sweaty onions. Closing the door quickly, he snapped open a beer and drank deeply. He was itchy and hot, still covered in drying blood and the cold drink was like…well like a cold drink on a hot day. He had finished the can before Dean even made it to the kitchen.

Dean stepped up next to him, grabbed two more cans out of the fridge, and handed one to Sam. "Mmmm," he said after swallowing most of the nectar in one go. He looked at the brand. "Stella just became new favourite girl."

"So how are we playing this Dean?" Bone-tired, Sam snapped back into little brother mode without even realising he'd done it.

"Setting the scene right will do most of the hard work for us." Dean was aware of his brother's slip and wasn't going to blow any chance at redemption. He jerked a thumb back towards the bedroom. "We look bloody and mean enough and Patty and Selma in there will talk our ears off."

"When they see their friend dead they're gonna be mad as hell…"

"Good. Cake walk Sammy. We've dealt with demons, gods and genuine evil son-of-a-bitch monsters – a couple of try-hard gangsters don't stand a chance."

"No they aren't as badass evil as we're used to. Not even anywhere near as much as they think they are. But I still don't think this is gonna work."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Look I get it. You hate me, hate everything I'm gonna say and do until the end of time. But that doesn't mean I'm wrong about this."

"I don't…I don't hate you Dean. I'm madder…was madder than I've ever been. But I don't hate you. Not anymore. But I don't like you much, either."

Dean was quiet, green eyes deep in thought. "I can live with that." He finished off the can and dropped it into the kitchen sink. "Humour me then. Which of the two is most likely to talk first d'you think?"

"Hard to say. One's a domineering hard-ass and the other's a psycho."

"Hard-ass and Psycho - sounds like a bad TV series. Dude - we got nothing to lose by trying this – and if it doesn't work out we can go seek out Lord Vader himself at his damn country club or something."

"What time is it now?"

Dean pulled Bill's phone out of his pocket. "Three."

"Jeez – three already. We only have until some unspecified time tomorrow before Haversham figures something's up and the meet isn't taking place. You need to go out and get anything before we start the shit show?"

"Hey the band just got back together and you're trying to get rid of me already?" Dean joked. Sam glared at him and Dean stifled the smile into a cough. "Too soon? Ok, too soon. Naw, we got everything we need here. Let's go set the stage. Again."

Sam grabbed another beer for himself and a can of cider for Lara. He handed it over to her as they stepped back into the living room. Castiel was standing over Archie's body. "I checked his pockets – he had no cell phone."

"What I don't get," said Lara "is how they communicate with this government guy. I've had a quick search and I didn't see a laptop or computer anywhere. There's no wi-fi either. These guys are dinosaurs."

"They seem like the type of guys who would do things the old-fashioned way. It would all be word of mouth and friend of a friend." Sam said.

"But they are modern enough to use a burner." Dean said. "There was nothing on Bill's cell – nothing in the call log and no email. The calls to me were the only ones on there." Dean carried on speculating. "I can't see some under-whatever in the British Government coming around to this dive for tea and crumpets. And these guys would look out of place hanging around the British Parliament."

"How about a cyber-café, maybe?" Lara suggested. "If there's a local one around here they might have used that…"

"It's possible," said Cas, thoughtfully. "They are well organised and have done this several times before so they must have some way of getting in touch with their contacts. The cab driver, for example."

Lara drained the rest of her cider. "You know, Alfie must have some other use than to make the tea. He's young and would know how to use a computer."

"He said he didn't know anything but I guess the kid could have been bluffing."

"Only one way to find out. And this is it." Aiming carefully, Dean stabbed, dragged and chopped with his knife at Archie's corpse. The smell of blood and guts quickly filled the room, causing Lara to casually-not so casually make a beeline for the kitchen.

Satisfied with his work, Dean stood up and ran a bloody hand through his hair. "Lets go get contestant number one."


	19. The truth will out

This time when Sam and Dean entered the Pleasuredome, they strode in confidently. And bloody. It didn't go unnoticed by Bill and Gavin.

"You finally seen sense?" His voice was higher pitched than usual. "Come to apologise and then fuck the fuck off?" Sam had to admire his balls. Kind of.

"Yeah, not so much." Dean reached up and undid Bill's cuffs. "Your turn to come and play."

Bill's already bloodied and bruised face went a very unattractive shade of purple but he still tried to play it cool. He casually rubbed life back into his arms. "Got nothing out of my crew did ya? See, I don't hire pussies. They'll never talk."

"Well you're right there Bill - bit hard to talk when you're dead..." Dean left that one hanging in the air. In a microsecond, Bill lost his composure and suddenly began to wildly kick and punch. Gav joined the circus by futilely screaming blue murder. Sam helped Dean drag the whirling, punching Bill out of the room and forced him along the corridor. They let go of him as soon as he reached the living room.

Bill stood statue still, shocked, taking it all in. He stared hard at Archie's body. Dean came up behind him and kicked the back of one of Bill's knees, forcing him to stumble down onto the still warm corpse of his friend. As he fell he put one hand out to steady himself and it ended up almost wrist deep inside Archie's intestines. He yanked his hand out of the wound, small whining noises coming from his throat.

Sam crouched down next to him. Got himself comfortable. "How has it come to this, eh Bill?" He spoke softly. "I don't suppose either of us imagined when we got up this morning that the day would end like this huh?"

Bill didn't say anything, just looked at Sam bewildered.

"There's so much you don't understand that's going on here. And I've changed my mind, I will explain it to you. All of it. But first I need to know the time and location for tomorrow. One simple sentence from you is all I need before I tell you everything. Then you and your still-breathing brother can go bury your dead. And begin plotting whatever revenge it is you want against me. But in order to do that you need to be alive..." Sam emphasised the point by gently waggling the knife in his hand.

"What..." Bill's voice cracked and he had to start again. "What the fuck did you do to him?"

"I think that's pretty fucking obvious, don't you?" Dean snarled. "He told us some. Not all of it, but he bled out before he could spill his guts. Um, no actually he did spill his guts. They're all over your filthy carpet."

"...And...Alfie?" That was just a whisper.

"Oh man. Lets just say that the other room is gonna need an industrial hose-down to get it clean. Cleaner. Who am I kidding, it'll never be clean." Dean smiled a smile that no normal person could call a smile. It even made Sam's insides go cold for a moment.

Sam expected Bill to start with the raging again. Instead the London gangster totally surprised him by crumbling like a sat-on potato chip. He made a stuttering wheezy noise and then his whole body seemed to fold in on itself.

"3pm tomorrow. Romford. Chinese noodle place near Boots the chemist. I'm to drop the necklace off with a lad named Neil. He'll give me a wad of cash. That's it."

Sam was stunned at how quickly Bill had broken. Dean had exactly called it right.

"That's it?" Dean wasn't happy though. He started shouting at Bill's monotone response. "How the fuck does that help us? Its Sir-fucking-Asshole we want, not your damn ransom money!"

Bill shrugged and looked up at Sam. "I never heard of this MOD bloke until you said his name. Like you said before, we didn't dig deep enough to find out who our employer was. We bollocked that right up. End of the day, all we were ever in this for was the money."

"How much?" Sam asked. "How much were mine and Lara's lives worth?"

"She weren't worth anything. No cash for her. You, however was twenty grand. Don't know what that is in dollars."

"Thats all?" Dean was dumbstruck.

"At the time it seemed a fair bit of cash for a piss-easy job."

"How'd that work out for you?" Dean was disgusted "Cheap as well as stupid" he muttered.

Sam pushed for more info whilst the going was good. "How did you communicate with this 'employer'? How did you find out about the job?"

"Someone I did a bit of business with a while back said he'd heard of something that was our specialty. Gave me an email address to use if I was interested in taking the job. Usual stuff. Not rocket science. Me and Alfie went to the internet cafe down the road. Sent an email. Got one back with your name and details on it and that was that."

"When was this?"

"Two weeks ago give or take."

Sam frowned heavily. Two weeks this asshole had been plotting. Sam had maybe only known Lara a day at that point but that was all it took for her to get drawn into Bill's and the British Men of Letters web.

"We checked you out..." Dean snorted at that, but Bill carried on. "We got the gist of you normal routine and used our usual MO to grab hold of you. Easy."

"Easy." Sam repeated back to him. "Easy." What a fucking joke. "What were you planning on doing with us once Dean had handed over the necklace tomorrow? You were totally gonna come back here and let us go, right?" Sam's mouth twisted with sarcasm.

"Maybe. Depends on what my employer wanted." Seemed he couldn't stop with telling the truth now.

"I would bet all the money I own, and then some, that your employer would have wanted me murdered."

"If that's what he wanted then that would have been tomorrow's problem. The kid..." He swallowed. "Alfie was supposed to check the email once the drop off was done. He..." Bill squinted, shook his head. Took a long hard look at Castiel who was almost invisible as he stood in the shadows of a corner of the room. He clutched hold of Sam's already stained collar, bloodying it up some more. His flat, bloodshot eyes suddenly shone fever-like. "Listen to me. Listen! You promised to tell me what's going on. Tell me! I've fell in through Alice's looking glass this morning and I don't know how to get out. Tell me how to get out!" The weird wobbling tone was unlike any Sam had heard him use before.

It would have been so easy to deny him. Make the man who was due to have murdered him tomorrow him beg and plead. But Sam knew that the truth, when Bill found it out, would blow his mind more. And Bill was a million miles from ever being forgiven. So Sam knocked the man's hand off his collar and began to talk. Coldly. Low and slow.

"Me and my brothers are hunters. We track down and kill monsters. Demons. Ghosts. Any - and every - evil thing there is. And I don't mean nasty little fuckers like you. I mean real ones. Ones that would take one look at you and then literally eat you alive."

The words should have sounded ridiculous but everything about his tone, his expression, showed Bill that Sam was deadly serious. And not about to stop there either. "You've heard of Hell right? Course you have. Well, Hell is real. That's where you're ending up by the way - its the only place kidnappers, psychos and murderers like you go. Me and Dean have been dragged down there a few times but the place never stuck with us. Lucifer is real - and let me tell you - he would laugh his ass off at your attempt at torture. And I should know, having first-hand personal experience. Yeah, you thought your pathetic efforts would break me? Dude, this isn't even the worst I've been tortured this year!" Sam was on a roll now, a large part of him delighting at Bills horrified expression. He wanted to turn the knife further, unwilling to stop there. "Shapeshifters and ghouls are real. Vampires. Werewolves. Things that would drink your blood, eat your heart then go to town on your soul." Sam laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound. It was rough and raw and totally without humor. "And you want to know the worst bit, you stupid dick? When you kidnapped me, you made enemies of Sam and Dean Winchester. Two brothers that even the monsters are scared of. Plus our friend over there? Castiel? He's an angel. But don't let that word fool you, he's the most badass man I've ever met. Between us we've killed more demons, vamps and soul-sucking creatures than you're capable of even counting." He patted Bill's cheek, making him flinch, and stood up, knees creaking. "Just a little something to bear in mind whilst you plot your petty revenge against us."

Sam turned away, done with the husk of a man in front of him. Turned and saw Lara with a hand to her mouth. Tears in her eyes. Horror in her eyes. If she'd even heard only half of what he'd just said he knew they were done. Still hyped up on repressed anger and cold fury he barely even cared. Welcome to the life and times of Sam Winchester; nothing but a monologue of death and nightmares.

Time seemed to slow as he took in the moment. She was appalled by him. By his life, by his words. And by the ruthless man he was quite obviously capable of being. The look in her eyes was so different to that of Dean's. Or Castiel's. They looked at him proudly. Satisfied. It equal measures sickened him, and made him feel like he'd come home. And he had, in a way. He knew who he was. Had it reaffirmed.

He tore his eyes away from hers and turned to Dean. Always the first person he turned to. "Do you have the necklace?"

"No - its back at the bunker. But I picked up something similar from a pawn shop near where we're staying. Its actually nicer than Tishes'.

"Good. Ok." He was all business now. "We need to get a tracking device attached to it. Then follow it back to Haversham. If he's not going to be at the meet up then we go wherever he is." Then the British Men of Letters are done for good.

"Whatever you say bro." Dean said, happily. "Can't wait to get the hell out of this dive. Just two questions. Where do we find a tracker? And what do we do with these guys?"


	20. Some answers

"Bill, you got any answers?" Sam wasn't expecting anything helpful and he wasn't disappointed.

"Get out of my flat so I can call a mate to help me...deal with all this." He was desperate for them to leave and kept switching his gaze between Archie, and down the corridor towards the room Alfie was in.

"Yeah that's a great idea!" Dean rolled his eyes. "Then you can run straight to Haversham with a warning and get to be the big man again. Do you think we're actually stupid?!"

"I think..." He shook his head like he was clearing water out of his ears. "I dunno what I think. What more do you want from me?" he whined.

"The email address would be a good idea" said Cas. Bill seemed to shrivel like a salted slug as Castiel walked out of the shadows. "Maybe we can bring the meet forward. Make a few demands of our own?"

"That's actually not a bad idea." Sam agreed. There was nothing he wanted more than to get this over and done with. "But changing the plans now might spook this guy. As last man standing he's got to be pretty paranoid at this point. Dean?"

"Depends if we can get hold of the right kind of tracker quickly. If we can't, then we make that a solid plan."

"And if that doesn't work too?" Sam hated to be negative but he couldn't see how else to get at someone whose security had to be on maximum alert. Not without taking more time than Sam was prepared to spend.

Lara unexpectedly spoke up. It was Dean she looked at, spoke to. Not Sam. It should have stung more, but Sam had already started to close off that part of himself. Tried to anyway. The problem was that every time she spoke his heart betrayed him by racing a bit faster.

"You can get a GPS tracker from anywhere - but they will probably be too big and too visible for what you need. Your bloke will spot it straight away." She held up a hand. "However, I have a pretty specialist micro one at work that should stick to a necklace ok. Or at least the box you put it in..."

"Yes!" Dean grinned, unaware of the subtle change between her and Sam.

"Must be fate we met you sweetheart." He gave her a wink and one of the special million-dollar smiles he usually reserved for super-ultimate hot barmaids and waitresses.

"Yeah, well then fate doesn't like me very much." There was just a faint trace of bitterness.

"If fate doesn't like you then she's a bitch. Which, incidentally, she is. You however are awesome. So can you set up my cell to receive the signal?"

"Easily, it won't take me long. I've used it a couple of times on bits of expensive IT equipment that got nicked at work and we've always managed to recover them back. A warning tho' - it won't have tons of battery life..."

"Hopefully we wont need it to. Haversham will want to get his hands on the mysterious and all-powerful Necklace of Trish as soon as he can. So long the battery lasts maybe half a day I reckon we'll be ok. If it dies too soon then we'll have to go the email route."

Dean seemed satisfied enough with the plan so far. He looked over at Castiel who also seemed pretty happy to continue.

"So Bill. What's the address?"

There was a long enough pause that Sam thought Bill might not answer.

"I'll write it down if you get me a pen. It's loads of numbers and letters." He seemed a much different man to the swaggering bully who had been digging around inside Sam's arm with a knife just a few hours ago.

Dean looked around and grimaced as he found a chewed up pen that looked like it had been mauled by a dog. Or a human with seriously disgusting habits. "I'll write it down, I still don't trust you with any sharp objects. Go..."

Dean repeated every character back to Bill three times before writing it on the wall in big letters. "Ok, good." He looked up. "And as for you guys - if Sam agrees, you get a minor reprieve until Haversham is dead. If it turns out we need to email him, and the email address is even a little bit wrong, I'll take it out of all your asses tomorrow. Till then, I suggest you guys spend the night safely tucked away in the pleasuredome."

Sam nodded in acceptance. "And Archie?" He tapped the corpse in front of him with the tip of his boot.

Dean answered like he had it all planned out. "If we're hanging around here a while, I don't want him stinking the place up. Well, stinking it up worse than it already is. I'm guessing this dive hasn't been cleaned since Chuck was in diapers. Bill, you're on dragging duties. Grab a hold of your pal and and get him into the spare room. Sam, you go get the kid out and move him into the pleasuredome."

Bill looked up. "Alfie?...but..."

"Yeah, did I forget to mention he ain't dead? Happy Hanukkah. Move!" He kicked the bewildered Bill's ankles to get him moving. "I'll leave you to break the news to him about his uncle."

Scratching at the dried blood on his neck, Sam strode down to go get Alfie, eager to get away from the gore soaked room. And from Lara. He entered the spare room to a solidly hateful glare from Alfie. Sam had secured him well and it took a few minutes to untie him before herding him with threats and promises into the pleasuredome. The kid took several steps inside before wrinkling up his nose. The room had gained an even more unpleasant smell to it now. Blood, sweaty fear and Gavin's palpable anger made for a heady combination. Sam waited patiently by the door until he heard Bill slowly dragging Archie's body into the now vacant room behind. Dean followed a moment later, shoving the puffing, sweating, red-faced Bill back into the pleasuredome.

Sam took a second. Then handed Alfie the key to Gavin's cuffs, telling him to wait until they were gone before unlocking him. It was way, way more than Gavin deserved, but Sam could see that being chained to the bed with his arms above his head wasn't helping the guy's shot up shoulder any. Dean softly shook his head at Sam's decent gesture but didn't argue. Instead he addressed the maniacal Gavin, who was steadily grinding his teeth in time to the grinding of his handcuffs against the metal bar.

"Hey, Looney Tunes! Bill will explain what's going on. You're all gonna be in here a while so get yourselves comfy. Night fellas!" The brothers all but ran out of the room. Sam slammed the door shut behind him, breathing hard with relief when the final lock was bolted. The crazy-mad Londoners were now one less problem for him to deal with for a while.

Sam put an arm out as Dean went to walk back down the corridor. "Hey - stop a second." Dean complied, a questioning look on his face. Sam took a breath. "Once Lara's given us the tracker I want her to go home and stay there."

"You'll get no argument from me Sam, this is no place for a civilian to be." He grinned. "Lemme tell you - that Lara is gonna be like jello in your hands once this is all done and you're all cleaned up. Nothing like a bit of heroic danger to get the blood flowing..."

"No, Dean. Thats not what I meant." It was painful for him having to say the next words. "There's...there's no me and Lara. No chance anymore. The look she gave me..." Sam winced. "When Haversham is dead I'm coming back to the States. Back to where I belong."

Dean's mouth visibly opened in surprise. Then morphed into the biggest grin Sam had seen in... well, years probably.

"Whoa...slow down there. I'm not saying we're ok. We're not. By a longshot. I'll never get over what happened - what you did will always be there between us."

Dean's smile reduced in wattage. Sam continued. "But I need to be out hunting again. Back home. Maybe we'll do it together again, maybe we won't, I can't think about that yet. All I know is that I can't bear to be here anymore. This room, this City, I cant be here anymore." It felt, to Sam, like he was always running. Away from Dean, from the States, from his demon-shaped miserably fucked-up family heritage. And now away from Lara. Who smelled like vanilla, had befriended him when he was lonely and had shown him nothing but kindness. He felt like a failure. All he ever seemed to do was run in the wrong direction.

Dean gripped his arm. Was almost gonna be a hug but he backed off. "I get it Sam, I do. Girls are always gonna come and go." Dean looked affronted when Sam huffed in disapproval. "What...? They do! Even the good ones...especially the good ones. They don't stay." Dean carried on with his version of a pep talk. "And as for me and you... I know it'll take some time and I'll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. You call the shots - any shot - and I'll be there with whatever you need. Me and Cas both." He let go of Sam's arm and put on a really serious face. "But hunting? That's exactly what you need. What you've always needed. My god, you were working in a bank. A bank! Thats like taking a wild lion and putting him in a zoo. Or..or being a caged hen instead of free range. Its not natural! You need to roam free..."

"Um wow, very poetic Dean."

"You know what I mean. You...and me...we weren't made for normal life. Its stifling and unnatural and just plain damn wrong!"

How could Sam argue with that? He agreed with every word. So he nodded and choked down anything that would have come out all emotional. Nodded, and walked back down the corridor to the living room.


	21. Moving on

Now that he'd spoken to Dean, Sam wanted to tell Lara his plans. Needed to tell her, even as he wondered if she would care. He made to go towards the kitchen but Cas stopped him on the way.

"Are you ok Sam?" His blue eyes were full of concern.

"I'm..." he was all ready to say he was fine. Just like he always did. Then changed his mind. "I don't know Cas. Its been a crazy day. No, wait... did I say day? I meant life. Every damn day is a rollercoaster of shitty lows followed by even shittier lows." He stopped himself, embarrassed. "Sorry Cas, I didn't mean to get all whiny..."

"You have nothing to apologise for - you're been through so much. Even today you endured significant trauma. You and Dean have taken on the world's problems more than once, and been forced to suffered the consequences."

"Same could be said for you Cas. I know how it feels to be..." He didn't want to bring himself to say the word possessed. "...to have Lucifer inside you, inside your head. Like you did." The thought was sickening.

Castiel also paled at the thought. No, at the memory of it actually happening. "It's true that we've all borne great burdens - us more than most. But I'll feel a lot lighter once I can get back to tracking Lucifer and then putting him down. For good."

Hell, if anyone could get on board with that it was Sam. "Do you have any idea where he is?"

"No, I lost him completely once we began our search for you after your abduction. And I've been kept busy ever since Dean's...um" He couldn't seem to find the right way to phrase it. "Since...um you...left us."

Sam felt his friend's awkwardness. And sadness. "Cas, as soon as Haversham is dead we're going back to the States. And I'm talking no later than tomorrow. You can count me in for any help you need to find Lucifer. Anything at all."

"You're coming home?!" Castiel's face lit up like it was Chinese new year. The change was dramatic and made Sam feel guilty all over again at the way he'd treated his friend.

"Yeah buddy, I'm coming home."

"And you and Dean? How's...?"

"Not great. Honestly Cas, it never will be. But I won't let that get in the way of doing what we do best...putting monsters in the ground. And that includes Lucifer."

"It will be...it will be so good to have you back with us Sam." Castiel put a hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed it hard. On impulse, Sam reached out and grabbed Castiel into a huge hug. He had missed his friend so much. He hadn't realised just how much. A prickling from behind his eyes started and he blinked it away.

He let go of Cas and steeled himself against the prospect of the much more difficult conversation he needed to have.

Lara was back in the kitchen, halfway through another can of cider. She seemed unable to meet his eyes as he opened the fridge and grabbed a beer, fiddling with the ring pull for too-long a moment. In the end he stepped up close enough to her that she surely had to look up at him. But there seemed to be a very interesting spot on the wall just behind him that she seemed fascinated with. He didn't let it put him off. "Um, hey. Will...um, will there be any problem with you getting us that tracker from your office?"

Finally she turned to look at him. He savoured the moment, trying to commit every freckle, every line to memory. He knew he would dream about her for a long, long time.

"The biggest problem will be avoiding all the questions. Everyone will want to know where I've been all day."

He nodded casually, low key. Opened the can and took a long swallow. "What are you going to say?"

"At the moment I'm torn between 'I was kidnapped and held hostage but it's ok cos I was rescued by an angel' or 'I had the runs and couldn't get off the loo'. Not sure which would work best." Her voice had an edge to it that he couldn't quite work out. "What do you think Sam?"

Again, some kind of mad emotional impulse took over him and he grabbed one of her hands and held onto it like it was the only thing stopping him from drowning. "I'm so sorry Lara. I don't even know how to begin to make this better for you."

Her brown eyes searched his. They looked so sad. "I know you are Sam. I am too. I..." She didn't finish the sentence. It was easier for her to swallow some more cider.

"Hey, its ok. I get it. You don't have to explain."

"I want to. It's just..."

"Seriously, don't. You don't need to explain to me. You don't owe me anything." The moment hung heavily. He took his hand away with no resistance from her. He decided he didn't really want the beer after all, and put it on the counter for Dean. Then changed his mind and picked it back up again. He hated how uncertain and unconfident he was when around her.

Lara took a big swig of her can, finishing it off before asking "What are you going to do once you've...kil...once you're done here?"

"Leave. Go back home with Dean and Cas."

"Home? As in America? So does this mean you've made up with your brother?" She seemed a little bit angry. "I thought you hated every single last thing to do with him? You were nothing but disgusted by him two hours ago."

He finished off his can and put it down on the counter next to Lara's. Turned them both so they were facing the same way. "I was. I did." It was so hard to explain. "A big part of me still is, I guess. But today has affected me in ways I couldn't begin to imagine. I've got to work everything out properly and I think I have to be home to do it. It wont ever be the same with him as it was, but maybe we can get somewhere better than we are now." He hoped. He shrugged.

Lara's anger softened. "I wish you both the best. No, more than that - I wish you peace Sam, you desperately need it. But I also think you're never gonna get it."

Sam was struck by her brutal honesty and it must have showed on his face.

"Oh - I don't mean that in a horrible way and hey, its just my opinion, but the stuff that you're running back to? How's that ever gonna make you a healthy and happy person?"

He swallowed. "It won't. Not in the way you mean, anyhow. But hunting with Dean's all I've ever really known and I guess there's a certain kind of comfort in that." It sounded as weak to him as it did to her.

She sighed. Pursed her lips into a 'whatever' shape. "Then I best hurry up and go get your tracker so you can go do your thing." She left the kitchen in something between a storm and a flounce, muttering 'what is it with men and their total lack of ability in seeing any goddam common sense.'

He followed her out into the living room to see that Dean had opened the heavy curtains and some of the windows. He'd also found some old coats and jackets and laid them out on top of the soiled carpeting.

"Home from home eh Sam? Stayed in worse places..." He said it like that was a good thing.

Lara grabbed the cell phone, handbag and coat that had been taken from her when they had first arrived at the apartment. "Well, this is me off." She paused. "Um...where exactly are we?"

Sam realised he had no idea either.

"Whitechapel" answered Cas. "The underground station is about five minutes walk away."

"Oh wow, ok, at least I kind of know where I am. Nearer than I thought. I'll be back in a couple of hours at the most then I reckon."

"You going on your own?" Sam frowned and looked around. "She's going on her own?"

"Yeah...I don't need an escort to my office, thanks. Been there before once or twice." She was irritated at him and that irritated Sam. Then she took it a step further. "Do you want me to bring us back some take-away?"

"You're coming back?"

"Well duh, how else are you gonna get the tracker? So...food or no?"

"Yes food!" Dean was definitely up for that. "Pizza for me. Large pepperoni. Sam?"

"I meant...I don't know. Whatever." His frown deepened at Lara planning on coming back to the apartment. He didn't want her here. He wanted her home safe, and well out of the sphere of chaos that pretty much permanently surrounded him and his brother.

"Get him a veggie one, he likes all that crap. You sure you don't need one of us to tag along? I don't think this area is gonna be too great once it gets dark."

"No thanks Dean, its fine." Oh him she smiles sweetly at when he asked her the same question I did.

Cas spoke up. "Or I can come?"

"Jeez guys! Tell you what, once I'm back at the tube station one of you can come meet me there, alright? I'll call when I get out. Castiel, what pizza do you want?"

"Oh, I don't eat, but thank you. Please - at least let me walk you as far as the station?"

She threw her hands up in the air, theatrically. "Oh my god! Ok already! You've worn me down. Lets go - but I need to know why you don't eat..."

Lara and Cas' conversation faded as they left the apartment, leaving Sam and Dean properly alone for the first time in a long time. Being late afternoon in October, the light was already starting to fade outside. Even with the curtains now open, the room had taken on a dingy grey hue so Dean snapped on all the light switches. Wasn't his electricity bill.

They looked at each other properly under the unflattering harsh lighting. Sam, blood stained and tired. Dean, looking older, with new worry lines etched onto his face. Sam saw his resemblance to dad more and more.

"I don't want her to stay Dean..."

"I know, you told me! Soon as we've eaten she's gone."

"Good, ok."

"Ok."

Silence. Not even a peep from the guys in the pleasuredome.

It was awkward. It got to the point where Dean went over to the TV and plugged it back into the wall. The sound of Sky Sports filled the room. "Where's the remote? You seen it?" Dean scrambled around until he found it lying on the floor by the side of the couch. Putting his feet up, he settled in as only Dean can, flicking his way through the channels before settling on an old Scooby Doo.

Sam, meanwhile, stood around like a spare part, not knowing where to put himself. The couch was filthy and he wasn't as into cartoons as Dean. At least not since he was six, anyway. So he hovered, knowing it would annoy Dean - it always did - until finally, eventually, Cas came back holding a thin plastic bag.

"Sam. There was a shop selling sweaters near the station so I bought you one." He pulled it out of the bag and held it up. It was obviously aimed at tourists as it had a big Union Jack flag with 'Welcome to London' plastered across the front in hideous Comic Sans font. There was one second where you could actually feel the air around them contract before Dean exploded it with laughter. He went red, he started choking, he was crying with laughter so hard that Sam went from deeply annoyed to actually concerned for his welfare. Cas just looked confused.

"Oh...oh no way..." Sam was adamant. "I'm not wearing that!"

"The shirt you are wearing is unsanitary, you have to change it."

"I don't and I wont."

"Its covered in blood and smells terrible - surely you can't be comfortable wearing it?"

"Its gross...but that sweater's worse!"

Cas looked crestfallen. "I'm sorry Cas, I don't mean to offend you. Its just...the shirt is just..."

"Awesome!" Dean couldn't help himself. "It's an awesome shirt Cas. And clean. C'mon Sammy - don't be so ungrateful! He went out of his way for you!"

Sam huffed. And puffed. And didn't see a way out of it. So he grabbed the shirt off Cas with extreme sulkiness and stomped off to the bathroom to go wash up.

Bill's bathroom was dirtier and stinkier than Sam was. By a looonnng way. There was no soap, no towel. Not even any toilet paper. So he had to settle for just stripping off the now-crimson shirt and pulling the new sweatshirt straight on.

It was warm at least. With Dean having opened the windows, the chill October air had seeped into the living room. Dean raised an eyebrow at him and sniggered. "Well here he is, a proper British gent. Awright guvna, up the apples and pears..."

Sam was baffled.

"You've been here too long," said Cas. "and your cockney accent is just awful."

"Well you have a go then!"

"I...no I wont Dean, I've told you, I don't do accents."

Sam listened to their easy banter and fought down the envy that came up to surprise him. It was so different to the awkward silence of him and Dean when they were alone. It was his own fault, he supposed, for leaving them. No! It was Deans fault for lying to him and forcing him to leave! He tried to muster up the old anger but let it go. He was just too drained. Instead he ignored their ridiculous conversation and slouched leggily in one of the hard back chairs, tiredly watching cartoons and waiting for Lara to return.


	22. Wok’s Up

He must have dozed off, as the loud blast of a shotgun woke him with a start. A James Bond film was on the TV. One of the newer ones. They'd seen it before and it was right near the end.  
"What time is it?" He asked, rubbing at his eyes and face. Damn the room was cold. And dark; all the lights were off. He realised he was alone in the living room, with the front door open. "Dean? Guys?" His heart began to thump.

He got up, leapt up really, and stuck his head outside the door. No sign of Dean or Cas down the dark corridor. He went back into the living room. The curtains were still open and the night-time lights of London twinkled far beneath him through the dirty windows.  
He went into the gloomy kitchen and was surprised to see the shadowy outlines of empty pizza boxes. "What the hell?" He said it out loud, not expecting a reply. And jumped when Dean answered from behind him. "Let you sleep. Whoa - calm down man it's just me!"  
"Dean! Where the hell were you? I woke up and no one was here!"  
Dean flipped a light switch, casting too bright a light over the grimy kitchen. "Went down to the car to get some stuff was all. I was gone like ten minutes. We saved you some pizza - and it's warm...who would've thought the piece of crap oven worked? Let me get you a slice..."  
"What? No! What the hell time is it?" Sam was confused. "Did Lara come back? Why didn't you wake me up when Lara came back?"  
"About half-one, yes, and cause you needed the sleep. And anyway I didn't think you wanted to see her."  
"Half-one? I've been out for hours! Damn it Dean! Just cause I didn't want her to stay, doesn't mean I didn't want to say goodbye!"  
"Don't get your knickers in a twist Sammy! That's what they say here by the way. Knickers. I told her you'd go see her tomorrow before we left, she was cool with that."  
A flare of annoyance sprung up - Dean was still making decisions for him behind his back.  
"Hey hey don't get mad - I'm not the bad guy here - she didn't want to wake you up either. You know...she said you still owe her a bottle of wine."  
She still wanted that? He was surprised. And a little bit relieved; maybe their goodbye wouldn't have to go as terrible as he thought. So he let it go. "What'd you get from the car?"  
"Clean...cleaner...sleeping bags than the ones these guys have. The necklace – we already fitted the tracker. A few extra weapons. All the essentials for a sleepover."  
"Sounds like you've thought of everything."  
"Hey, don't be like that Sam!"  
"Huh? I wasn't being like that! I was agreeing with you!"  
"Didn't sound like it!"  
"What?!"  
"That's enough!" Castiel entered the kitchen holding Dean's cell and a charger, which he plugged into the wall next to Sam. "Can I not leave you two alone for ten minutes without bickering? Sam, eat some pizza, you'll feel better."  
"What do you mean feel better? I'm ok! It's Dean the one that's suddenly acting like a bug flew up his ass!"  
"You're right Cas - you said he'd be hangry." Dean shook his head pityingly. "Better do what the angel says. You're like the guy in that advert, 'you're not you when you're hungry'."  
"What..?"  
"Pizza. Eat." Castiel took the warm box out of the oven and handed it to Sam.  
"It's a TV ad. On the TV. In England."  
"How am I gonna know that? I haven't watched TV in months."  
Dean wasn't sympathetic. "Then that's your loss. Go eat, then go sleep. Busy day tomorrow."

The next time Sam woke up he was much warmer and the room much lighter. He was wrapped up in a sleeping bag and Dean was snoring gently on the couch in a bag of his own.  
Castiel came out of the corridor that led to the bedrooms.  
"Cas?" Sam extricated himself from the sleeping bag, with the empty pizza box falling from his lap onto the floor. "Is everything ok?"  
"I've been to check on our captives. They're angry as hell but basically fine. What are we going to do with them once this is done? We can't leave them in there indefinitely."  
"And we can't just kill them in cold blood. Or set them free to go kidnapping again."  
"Call the police?" Cas suggested.  
"I guess. Maybe? The very stabbed body in the other bedroom isn't going to look good for them."  
"Who cares?" Dean was awake, stretching and wiggling like he'd spent a night in the finest suite any Hilton had to offer. "We'll be long gone before the cops ever hear our names mentioned."  
Sam nodded. "True. Ok, soon as the business with Haversham is sorted we'll tip-off the cops to this address. How long till we have to be...where is it?"  
"Romford. Never heard of it. We got six hours to find it and then get our asses over there."  
Sam grabbed his cell from over on the sideboard but it was dead, so went into the kitchen to swap it with Dean's fully charged one. He noticed a tracker app had been installed, ready for later. He opened up the cell's web browser and searched for Romford.  
"Ok guys, seems it's a market town with a shopping mall in East London. It's not actually all that far from here, I think. I say we get there early so I can get some more…appropriate clothes, we can grab a bite to eat and wait and see who shows up."  
Dean was out of his sleeping bag and headed to the bathroom. "And get some coffee..."  
By noon they were parked at a big supermarket car park in Romford. They'd visited a Next Outlet on the way, where Sam found some jeans and a slightly less obtrusive sweater. As in plain gray. He still hadn't had the chance to shower, having had to make do with a brief wash at Bill's kitchen sink before they left the flat. He'd managed to get most of the dried blood out of his hair at least. Now the three of them sat inside the Starbucks opposite the 'Wok's Up' noodle bar with Dean sucking on a coffee, bitching about how expensive everything was. Sam had to keep reminding him they were about to be handed a big bag of cash and to shut up for five minutes.  
He fiddled with Dean's cell, bored. His brother had taken Lara's number before she left and now he wanted to text her to if she was ok. He convinced himself to leave it be until after this was all over. She was probably at work anyway. He decided not to ring into his work either. The bank would figure out soon enough that he wasn't coming back.

Over the course of two coffees and a mediocre chicken salad, Sam checked the tracker app once, twice, three times; and each time it was working just fine. Time crawled by, with nothing even remotely suspicious happening outside. The guy working at the noodle bar seemed an ordinary guy, nothing special. Wok's Up did a fair bit of business – the stand was pretty popular and the smell was sending Dean crazy. He'd already announced that he was going to be the one to make the trade, as he wanted to get some of those damn noodles more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life.  
At just gone three, Dean waited until no one was at the stand before making his way out of the Starbucks and crossing the small passageway. Sam and Cas moved to one of the outside tables so they could hear what was happening. Dean handed over 3.50 and got himself some chicken stir-fry. Took a big mouthful, then topped it up with another huge bite.

"This is good dude," he said, not bothering to swallow it all down before talking. "Hey - are you Neil?" He shook the small plastic bag containing the boxed up necklace.

The guy – Neil – nodded. "Yeah…" He looked down at his watch, saw it was three pm.  
"You Gavin?"

"Uh huh." Dean choked down the rest of the mouthful. "You got something for me?"

"I do." He reached underneath the counter and pulled out a backpack. From out of that he pulled out a brown envelope that couldn't have looked more like a parcel of cash if it had had CASH written all over it in big letters.

They traded items. Dean, making sure not to drop his box of noodles, quickly shoved the envelope inside his jacket. "Pleasure" he told Neil, then walked casually away towards the car park, still eating. Sam followed, with Cas hanging around a little longer to make sure no one was following the Winchesters.

Ten minutes later they were all in Dean's rental, and driving away. Cas rifled through the envelope and whistled at the amount of 50 notes stuffed in there.

Sam had Dean's cell on and the tracker was working perfectly. Or so he hoped. He was getting a clear signal from the necklace, which hadn't left the noodle bar.

They parked up maybe ten minutes outside of Romford, to wait for the signal to move. Which it didn't, for the next two hours.

Two, long hours of Dean making the most of every single noodle.


	23. Haversham

Finally, oh thank God finally, the signal began to move.

Dean started the car and began the pursuit, following Sam's directions. The necklace must have been carried on a motorbike, it seemed to weave pretty fast through the congested A-roads. It was rush hour, and to their frustration just about every vehicle in England seemed to be out driving at the same time. The fact it had begun to rain fairly heavily didn't help either. Castiel sat in the back grumbling at every red light. Which was about every two and a half minutes.

Dean finally began to catch up as they left London but were still around half an hour behind when the signal became stationary.

"Its stopped…"

"What? Where's that at? Where is it?" Dean was trying to look and drive at the same time and Sam had to elbow him away. He zoomed out of the map, then zoomed back in closer. Looked at the satellite view too.

"So it looks like a detached house near a place called Wickford in Essex. Farmland I think. Big property from what I can see."

"You think maybe Lord Snooty-pants, Snooty-knickers, is starting the weekend early in their country home or something?"

"Could be."

"We need to get there now." Castiel spoke up. "As soon as Haversham opens the box and sees the necklace is a fake...and one with a tracker attached to it, he'll know we're coming."

"He might already have opened the box. Who knows how quickly he can get backup? And remember, this guy is not just British Men of Letters, he also works for the Ministry of Defence..."

Paying no mind to the wet roads, Dean put his foot down on the gas a lot harder.

Six pm, and the sky was inky by the time they pulled up about half a mile from the house. Sam took a 9mm semi, whilst Dean had a shotgun. Plus a couple of knives. Cas had his blade and seemed pretty happy with that. Until he got around a quarter mile away from the house and doubled over in pain.

"It's warded! Heavily so." He tried to take another step forward but Sam pushed him back. "Cas...you've got blood coming out your ears!"

Castiel looked shocked as he touched a finger to his ear and it came away black under the night sky. The heavy rain washed it away within moments. "This place has wardings I've never seen, or felt, before."

"Dammit!"

"We knew there might be wardings."

"We did, but this level of protection is extreme in the...extreme. Take every precaution - we don't know if we've been led into a trap or if all the BMOL's homes are similarly protected."

"Won't know until we get in there." Dean looked furious. "Cas you're gonna have to hang tight until we find a way to get you in. Meantime, circle the perimeter in case any company turns up. We need to go Sammy…"

Slowly, carefully, the brothers crept towards the large farmhouse. It was situated on mostly empty land, with one barn that seemed to serve as a two-car garage. There were two cars parked in there now, an Audi and a Range Rover. With the exception of the front gate, a shoulder-high bramble hedge ran the entire way around the perimeter.

Sam whispered. "So when you and Cas were hunting these guys down over the past few weeks, nowhere else had wardings like this?"

"Apart from the hotel we rescued you from, we never visited any of these guys on their home turf. We always got them in places they weren't expecting. Here…" Dean pointed to a hole in the hedge that foxes must use to wriggle their way through. "This will do." Dean got out a knife and hacked away at the brambles until the hole was just big enough for them to squeeze through.

A little bit muddy and a lot scratched, they emerged towards the rear of the house, not far from the back door.

Sam took his gun out ready. They stood either side of the white wooden door, listening out for any sign of life inside. Sam couldn't hear anything except for the continuous downpour of the rain and the unexpectedly loud thudding of his heart. He and Dean had played out this situation out many, many times in the past, but not since their massive, life-changing argument. He had to put all that aside, and trust they would work together as well as they'd always done.

Dean reached out and tried the door handle. It turned easily, the rain masking the noise as it opened. Sam went low as Dean covered him into the open hallway. It was dark, no lights were on, but someone had to be home, the two cars in the garage and the fact the necklace had led them here were clues enough.

Dean quietly closed the door behind them as they crept down the hallway and into the open kitchen. The small glow from the oven clock and microwave showed them the kitchen was big, but not much else.

They separated as they silently went round the kitchen island, meeting back up again in front of another door. A faint horizontal shaft of light showed underneath. With no idea where it led, they hesitated for a moment before applying their tried and tested door entry technique again.

This time, the room they entered was semi-lit by a small standard lamp set up in the corner of a cosy sitting room, next to what looked like a very comfortable, but empty leather chair.

They glanced at each other for a moment, the soft lighting and wet hair making Dean seem younger and more vulnerable. Sam swallowed a pang of emotion, took the initiative and went past him to explore further on. A narrow corridor took them past a small bathroom and then on to a dining room.

An occupied dining room.

A man, looking every inch like the lord of his own manor, sat at the head of the table. Mid-fifties, with a receding hairline and a nose that looked like it was permanently smelling shit, this had to be the man they were hunting. The man who had been part of Sam's kidnap and imprisonment. And thereby the subsequent death of Mary Winchester.

He was alone, except for about a hundred lit candles and what looked like the remains of a chicken dinner in front of him. He sighed as the Winchesters entered the room, and pushed his plate away. "You made it then." It wasn't a question.

Sam's lips twitched. "Haversham, I take it?"

"It's quite proper to refer to me as Sir Keith." He seemed not to notice the fact that two guns were trained on him as he went over to the sideboard.

"I've never been one for proper" Dean answered.

"Noooo." They way Haversham drew out the word, sneering at them, pissed Sam off immensely.

Haversham picked up a bottle of what looked like brandy, sniffed it approvingly and then poured himself a small glass. Took tiny little sips like it was made from unicorns tears. Which it might have been for all Sam knew.

"You knew we were coming."

"Please. Within half an hour of you dropping off that insult you call a necklace, I had been sent a photo of it, used all of one brain cell to see

that it was a fake, assumed it was being traced and had a plan already set up and in motion. Who do you think you are dealing with? One of your bloody idiot American cowboys? You thought you were coming here to kill me? Me?!"

Dean snarled and raised the shotgun. "Didn't just think it…"

"I think you should look behind you. Go on now…" He fluttered his fingers at them.

Sam half turned and saw two men and a woman standing behind them. That didn't matter though. Not even the guns they were carrying mattered. What did matter was the bleeding and unconscious Castiel that was being held upright by the two men.

And Cas wasn't just bleeding, he was pouring with blood. From what seemed like every orifice in his body. It wasn't a normal red colour either. It had a strange orange tint to it.

"The warding…" Dean choked the words out. "You've forced him in here…"

"Interesting isn't it?" Haversham took no notice of Dean's panicky horror. "The warding is causing something akin to a chemical reaction with his grace. It's converting it to a toxic liquid, which his body is expelling"

"He's losing his grace..?" Sam was sickened.

"Indeed he is. And most painfully too. This poor brute has obviously passed out from the trauma. A shame - I don't get the opportunity much these days to hear the sound of Angels screaming."

"Let him go! Get him out of here!" Dean shouted as Sam struggled to restrain him from attacking the men holding his friend upright.

"Happy to. As soon as you do as I say."

Dean capitulated immediately, desperate to stop Cas from losing any more blood. "What do you want?"

"For you to sit down quietly like good little boys and take a drink with me."

"A drink? What?" Sam was confused.

"Sit. Down." Haversham pointed to the dining table chairs. "Oh, and please do remove your weaponry first. On my sideboard will do nicely."

With immense effort, the brothers did as Haversham asked. It hurt to give in so easily but it hurt more to see Castiel in mortal danger.

Haversham opened the sideboard doors and pulled out two fancy glass bottles filled with clear liquid. It looked just like water.

"It's water. In case you were wondering."

"Why don't I believe you?" Dean growled. He was on the edge of his chair, spring loaded and ready to pounce.

"Because you're an ignoramus, perhaps?" He placed a bottle each in front of the brothers. "Drink, please." He gestured for them to open their bottles.

Sam and Dean hesitated.

"Oh for goodness sake, it's not poisonous. But the warding is. So for the sake of your friend DRINK!"

The moment between reaching out for the bottle and unscrewing the cap seemed one of the longest of Sam's life. A childish part of him wanted to hold on to his big brother as they swallowed the liquid together.

It tasted just like lukewarm water. Sam waited for any funny side effects but nothing seemed to immediately happen.

"What did you just make us drink?" Dean was scared. Sam could see it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Haversham sat down in front of them. "I want you to know I hate you. I hate everything you stand for, everything you do. Your country is riddled with monsters the likes of which we haven't seen in the UK in hundreds of years. You have no Men of Letters left, not that you had any of our calibre anyway. All you have are 'hunters' firefighting against whatever crisis you lurch to next. Which, at a minimum, is just sheer incompetence. But you two? You're actually dangerous. And I don't mean to the monsters. I mean to us...the rest of the human population. The utterly disgraceful way you went about causing the apocalypse had us aghast."

"The hell?! There was no apocalypse, thanks to us!" Dean was mad. "Sam chose to hurl himself into the cage rather than see Lucifer loose - I didn't notice you guys arriving at the cemetery that day to save everyone's asses!"

"Oh we were there, not that any of you would have noticed. And action would have been taken had Sam not chosen to do the right thing. For once. But that's not the only example of you taking credit for patching back up the the thing you broke in the first place, is it? Releasing the Darkness? Hmm? I could go on, but time grows short. For you three, anyway."

"You said you would let Castiel leave if we did what you wanted."

"I lied, obviously. Like I lied about your recent...refreshments…"

"What did you make us drink?" Dean asked again, this time his voice a good octave higher.

"Water. Mmm, plus a little something extra added."

"W..ww...What..?" Sam wanted to know, and didn't want to know all at the same time.

Haversham smiled, and it wasn't pleasant. "A microscopic cellular compound known as XO. Well, I say microscopic, its not anymore. Its growing. Inside of you both."

Dean couldn't take it anymore. "What did you do to us you bastard?!" he shouted.

"XO is a metallic life-form that is similar to bacterium you might see under a microscope. We found a way to grow it to more than a billion times its natural size". He looked specifically at Sam. "Its silver, it's covered in spikes and it's going to rip you apart from the inside out."

"Noooooo no no no..." Sam's nightmare was coming true. One of those little fuckers was inside of him? And Dean? He wanted to be sick. Actually thought he might be. Haversham read his mind.

"Throwing it up won't help, its already attached itself to you. I thought you might recognise the description Sam, I'm led to believe you've been acquainted with one before." He looked at Sam rubbing at the scars on his shivering fingers.

"Why are you doing this to us?" Sam whispered. "Why like this?"

"Why ever not?" Haversham replied.

Consequences be fucked, Sam lost it. He went for Haversham, hurling himself with everything he had at the smug, smiling murderer.

The two guys holding Cas let him drop to the floor like a bag of potatoes as they jumped on Sam. Something sharp poked him on the ass and the next thing he knew he was lying on the wooden floor, staring up at the ceiling and quivering like his nerves were on fire.

The men decided that Sam hadn't had quite enough and began kicking Sam in the head, the ribs...all over. Sam couldn't move, lying rigid as the blows came down over and over again. The last thing he heard before unconsciousness took him was Dean screaming his name.


	24. Desperate times

Sam came round as he was being dragged up some stairs by his ankles. The back of his head banged painfully against every single step, but he was still unable to move properly, or even slur out a cry of pain. He must have passed out again as the next thing he knew he was lying on a different floor, looking up at a different ceiling. One that was spinning and it was all Sam could do just to breathe. Nausea engulfed him and at that moment he wanted nothing more than to throw his entire guts up to make the cold sickness go away. Queasy dizziness overwhelmed his entire being, including his terrible worry for Dean or Cas. Somewhere inside him a voice was warning that if he did puke whilst unable to move, he could likely suffocate. He gripped onto the floorboards with his fingers, nails vainly digging for purchase in the smooth wood.

Haversham didn't wait for him to properly come-to before piling on the bad news. In fact, Sam realised he'd been monologue-ing the whole way up the stairs. He concentrated on focusing on the words as a way to lead him out of his woozy disconnect.

"I'm sure you'll agree it's beauty personified. Elegant, even. Thank you Simon, Bruce, you can let go of Dean now, I'm sure he'll be a good boy once he hears what I have to say next." Sam heard the unmistakable thud of a body falling next to him, felt the floorboards rattle.

"Anyway, we tried so many things but it turns out that XO's fastest growth is accelerated by movement. In case you can't extrapolate what that means Dean I'll spell it out for you...if you lay absolutely perfectly still and do nothing more strenuous than a bit of light breathing, you - could - extend the rest of your life to around six hours. After that...well...she'll grow spikes big enough to rip your intestines into chunks of dog food before tearing her way out of your bowels."

"Oh fuck you!" Dean's outraged voice filled the room. "I don't need six hours to murder your psychotic British ass!"

In spite of their terrible predicament, knowing his brother was right next to him put some of Sam's nausea to rest. He found himself able to breathe a bit more freely.

"That's six hours if you don't move at all. Which I don't think your capable of. In fact, I know you won't be able to rest here for long." He emitted a reedy little chuckle. "I made a phone call earlier, requesting some of my very fine defence specialists do a bit of heroic rescuing. I'd say you have around an hour before those delightful brothers Bill and Gavin Robinson get here. They don't even want the money back that you stole from them, can you believe? All they want is to spend some quality time with you before you expire."

"Perfect." Sam heard Dean hawk up a mound of spit, then land it wetly on the floor beside Haversham. "I get to waste those idiots straight after I've kicked your ass!"

"Now Dean, even I don't think you're as stupid as you pretend to be. You ought to realise that if you walk, talk or even think about fighting your way out of here, it will take no more than half an hour before XO grows large enough to disembowel you."

"Challenge accepted." Dean threatened.

There was no response from Haversham other than a scornful tutting noise. Sam heard him and his two guys leave, then close the door behind him. Then lock it.

Dean's worried face immediately loomed over Sam's. The cuts, scrapes and red bruising made Dean look exactly like he'd been on the losing end of a fight. He supposed his face didn't look any different. "Sam can you talk? You ok?"

"I'm gonna puke." When he spoke, he realised his lip had been cut open for the second time in two days. And more than one tooth felt loose. Great.

"Ok you can talk. Can you move?"

"Don't know. Got concussion or something..."

Sam felt Dean's arms underneath him, dragging him against a wall so he could sit upright. For a moment, the room rotated around him like a washing machine drum on full power, before setting down to a milder rinse and spin. When he could finally see clearly he saw they were in an ultra-modern minimalist bedroom, all cream linen and no clutter.

"Where's Cas?"

"Don't know, they didn't bring him up with us."

Sam couldn't do anything other than frustratedly watch as Dean tried the locked windows, then ran around the bedroom trying to find something to pick the door lock. Dean was about to dig through the contents of a small but neatly ordered, open-plan closet when he rubbed a hand on his chest as if he had a bad case of heartburn.

"Stop moving! Dean - you heard what he said! He put...he put those little fuckers inside us." Sam could feel the bile, and the horror, rising again. "If you keep moving it's gonna grow faster!"

"What am I supposed to do? Just sit on my ass and wait for that no-mark Bill to come kill us? No thanks."

Sam tried to get up to help, but fell back down again on his numb legs. "What the fuck did they get me with?"

"Some kind of taser thing. Sam...we don't have time to find something to jimmy the lock. Who the hell has a bedroom this empty, fucking weirdos! I've got to try and break the door down, it looks pretty basic."

"What? No!" Blood flew from his broken mouth. "That could kill you in minutes!"

"I don't have a choice! I have to get you and Cas out of here and if this is the only way then so be it." He didn't wait for Sam to object again, just hurled himself at the door. It rattled encouragingly, so Dean tried again and again. The hinges definitely seemed to be getting wobblier. Dean was lining up for another big one when he abruptly dropped to the floor instead, clutching his chest and writhing in agony.

"DEAN!" Sam frantically forced himself to move toward his brother, dragging his half-dead legs behind him. "Please, keep still!" He lay his body on top of Dean's, using his weight to stop him thrashing around. He stayed like that, worry eating away at him like acid, until eventually Dean stopped choking and lay still.

"Um Sammy? You can get off me now, I'm fine."

Sam swallowed away a semi-sob before rolling off.

They lay side by side, breathing too fast and counting down the minutes until either Bill or little fucker made an appearance. Forced to lie still he became aware of every single kick and punch that Simon and Bruce had given him. But worse, way worse than the physical pain, was the mental stress. Knowing exactly what was growing inside them kept bringing Sam out in cold, shuddering sweats.

Dean was also travelling down the same dark path. "Sam...if I conniption out again I need you to let me be. Save your energy and hold out as long as you can…"

"Dean...man…"

"Don't say it Sammy." Dean could barely talk, but managed to push the words out. "I'm sorry. About everything. I thought I was doing the right thing but I was wrong. You have to believe mom loved you...really truly she did…"

Sam turned to look at his brother and recoiled in horror. Dean's eyes had rolled back inside his head and he had begun to puke blood. And something was moving on his chest.

"Shit! Fuck!" Sam pulled up Dean's tee in time to see a raised, stubbly mound the size of a grape, wriggling underneath the skin of his brother's rib cage. "FUCK!" Sam was in terror. He banged and slapped at his own legs to get them to crawl over to a wall mounted mirror not even a foot away. He braced himself, and swung an elbow to shatter it. Pieces of glass fell in large shards and he had no way of avoiding them as they landed on his arm. He ignored the pain from the cuts…and ohmygod from deep inside his own chest...and crawled back over to Dean with a piece of the mirror cutting sharply into his fingers.

He carefully watched little fucker's movements, making absolutely sure the moment was right, before gently slicing into Dean's chest just below his ribs. "Man I am so fucking sorry…" Desperately trying to avoid damaging his brother's liver or any other essential organs, he pushed a finger and thumb inside the laceration and pulled out the sharp metallic object. It continued to wriggle and grow in his hand, even as he kept the other one pressed tightly against Dean's bleeding wound.

It was growing sharper and quicker and Sam panicked. He threw it as hard as he could at the window. It bounced against the toughened glass and landed on the varnished floorboards. It twitched once, twice then began to scramble and scratch back towards them.

Sam was consumed with anger and fear. Praying that his legs would hold, he got to his feet just in time to stomp the ever-loving crap out of the vicious, evil thing. He expected it to shatter, but instead it cracked in half, its insides squishing out like buggy goo.

With trembling blood-slicked fingers, he used the shard of mirror to cut up the not-cream-anymore bed sheeting to wrap around Dean's torso. He packed it tight as he could, before putting him into the recovery position. He kept two fingers on his brother's wrist, counting the weak but steady beats. Please Dean please wake up.


	25. Sam struggles

Dean wasn't coming round and Sam didn't know what to do next. He thought of Cas, bleeding away his grace, and his life, all alone.

"Dammit!" Sam climbed back onto unsteady feet. He still held the shard of mirror in his sticky, wet hand. Imagined thrusting it deep into Haversham's vile heart. The idea of poking several fatal holes into the man that had murdered them all gave Sam all the impetus he needed to full-body throw himself at the door.

That one, huge hurl was all it took for the hinges to come away and the door to fall open.

The woman Sam had seen earlier was standing guard outside. Blonde and tall, the mean smirk that twisted her lips ruined anything that could have been attractive about her. She expected Sam to be unarmed and weak. The shard of mirror Sam drove deep into her guts removed her of that notion, as well as her smug grin. She opened her mouth to scream in shock and Sam slid the glass out of her belly and quickly shoved it into her neck, silencing her.

One accomplice down, too many to go.

Much as he wanted to, if he went downstairs to fight the murdering bastards on his own he would be eviscerated from the inside out within minutes. Then no one would be able to save Cas or his brother.

Cas, he decided, was their only chance. And a small one at that. If he could somehow find him, and if he could get him away from the poisonous warding in time, the angel might have enough juice to heal himself and maybe Dean. It was the only thing he could think of that might possibly work. He ignored all the 'iffs' in his plan as they weren't particularly helpful.

Sam stepped over the woman's body, taking her knife in exchange for the shard of glass he'd left in her neck.

The corridor was beautifully decorated. Everything looked designer and ridiculously expensive. Sam made sure to drip and smear as much blood as he could on everything he touched.

The first room he came across was small, looked like some kind of dressing room. Five matching sets of identical grey suits and shirts hung on a rail. And five pairs of clean-as-new shiny shoes laid out underneath each set. Fucking weirdo. It didn't take much more than one flick of his torn hand to ruin all the suits in one go. Petty, but satisfying.

Next was an empty bathroom, equally as tidy and minimalist. Even the toilet paper was out of sight, hidden behind some kind of fancy chrome dispenser.

He had no idea if it was the taser or concussion causing the nausea, but another strong bout welled up as he walked on. He had to waste too many precious minutes leaning against a wall, eyes closed, clammy forehead resting on his sodden sweater sleeve.

As soon as it receded enough to move again, Sam walked past the staircase he had been dragged up earlier. The thumping at back of his head increased in protest at returning to the scene of the crime. Sam pictured Haversham down one floor below, sitting in that cosy armchair waiting comfortably for Bill and Gavin to arrive.

Impatience moved him onwards.

Three more rooms remained on this floor. But before them a narrow staircase led up towards what must be an attic.

Sam was hyper-aware of how much energy he was using to incubate his little fucker. Having to keep physical movements to a minimum meant he was forced to search cleverly instead of thoroughly. Where was the most likely place they would keep Cas? Whatever option he chose was a massive gamble. He dismissed the idea of searching the three remaining first-floor rooms and went for the attic instead.

Breathing softly, climbing smoothly, he made his way up the uncarpeted staircase.

The steps, like the rest of the house, were beautifully maintained. No squeaky boards. A door opened easily onto a large, airy room. The lights were all on, casting a bright glow over dozens and dozens of large plastic crates neatly lined up against all four white walls.

Wondering whether he could spare a moment to peek inside one (Haversham was Men of Letters after all, who knows what useful items might be hidden away?), a wheezy cough took him by surprise. Midway down his chest he could feel a lump forming inside him. Like he had swallowed a piece of meat that was too big and it had gotten a bit stuck.

Sam pictured the little parasite growing and thrashing around inside his windpipe. He badly wanted to puke but couldn't spare himself the luxury - he was dangerously running out of time.

He quickly eyeballed the room - from where he stood he could see the entire attic.

Either Cas wasn't there or, dear-god-no, he was in one of the dozens of stacked up crates that Sam didn't have a hope of searching on his own.

"Cas?" He called out. Nothing.

"Cas?"

Shit. He slumped back against the nearest wall. His head hurt, his arm and hands hurt and the dizziness was back.

Guess I could maybe get one or two of the crates open before I die like John Hurt in Alien.

His friend could literally be anywhere in the house and Sam would never be able to find him in time. If he'd had the energy he would have howled in frustration. And if he had, he wouldn't have heard a horrible wet gurgling sound nearby. What the hell?

He heard it again, coming from a smaller tub on the floor near the door.

No...tell me they didn't…

They had. He dropped his knife, used two hands to unclip and pull off the lid. Those cruel bastards had stuffed the unconscious angel into a plastic box and left him to die.

Sam's fury flared white hot. If he was able, he would have made every single person in this house suffer for their barbarity.

Cas whimpered again. Sam reached out and touched his friend's crumpled chest. He was breathing at least, though it sounded more like a wet rasp.

He couldn't let his friend stay like that for one second longer. He tipped the box onto its side and gently pulled Cas's arms. An inch of blood that had pooled in the bottom of the tub helped slide him out.

With nothing more he could do to help, Sam put Cas into the same recovery position he'd put Dean in. As he did so, Sam noticed the angel had stopped bleeding. Nothing new was leaking from his nose, eyes or ears.

Was that good or bad? Sam didn't know. It either meant Castiel's grace was completely gone, or possibly the warding was less strong up here.

He prayed it was the second option but even that posed a problem all of its own. If he managed to get Cas out of the attic (hah! - he wasn't even sure if he could get himself out of the attic!) it meant exposing him to the warding in the house again. He wasn't sure Cas could take a second dose of the toxic spellwork.

Sam needed help, badly. He needed Dean.

He clambered down the stairs before realising he'd left the knife back up there. He left it where it was; he was no longer in any fit state to use it if he came across someone anyway. In fact, he was beginning to find it hard to breathe. He slowly made his way back to the bedroom, following the prolific blood stains he'd created on the way out.

He once-again stepped over the blonde woman's body and, even though he'd mostly expected it, his heart still sunk to see that Dean hadn't moved.

He half-stumbled, half-fell to his knees and clutched hold of his brother's hand. "Dean...please I need you! Wake up! I've found Cas but...I think he's dying." Dean mumbled quietly but showed no signs of opening his eyes. Sam shook him, hard. Again and again. "Dean, I forgive you man and if we make it out of here alive I want to get back to hunting with you as brothers again. But you have to wake up, please!"

His exertions were too much. A searing pain behind his ribcage took his breath away. Sam doubled over clutching his stomach and felt the hard, metallic lump inside of him move. Finally he did throw up, his abdomen feeling like it was ripping itself apart with every spasm.

He felt a rough hand on the back of his neck and tensed, ready to use his last remaining energy to kill whoever was behind him as savagely as possible.

Couldn't even do that properly without falling face first.

The hand pulled him over and he found himself staring into Dean's bewildered eyes.

"Sammy! What the fuck is happening?!" Dean had awoken to find himself in pain and his brother violently throwing up blood.

Sam clutched his brother's arm with his lacerated hand. "I used the mirror to cut the...thing out of you." He was struggling to breathe. "You need...to…" He couldn't talk anymore. He let go of Dean's arm and pulled up his new, ruined grey sweater over his chest. Hoped Dean got the message at the sight of the moving bulge.

"The fuck?!" Dean took it all in, including the dead spiky monstrosity on the floor "You got that thing out of me with a piece of glass?" He gingerly touched his burning, bandaged torso with a grimace. "Jeesus Sammy, you're fucking awesome!" Sam stared up at Dean, imploring him to return the favour.

"But I was out when you did it to me! I could kill you if I cut you open whilst you're still awake. If you move at the wrong time..."

Sam weakly grabbed Dean's hand and held it against the chunk of metal just under his skin. His lips were turning blue with slow asphyxiation. Dean's eyes widened as he realised just how big Sam's little fucker had gotten. And that it was killing him right fucking now!

"Ok, ok I'm doing it. Hang tight Sammy, I've got this."

There was a pause as Dean stumbled up, clutching at his own stomach as he went to find a shard of mirror. Then he was back and the look on his face said it all. "Don't die on me Sam. Don't you dare!"

Agony, sheer agony as Dean began to cut. But that was nothing compared to the pain when Dean stuck his hand inside Sam's torso and began to pull. The room went every shade of white, red and purple as the pain overtook him. He ground his teeth and cried silent never ending tears whycantijustblackoutplease! until finally he felt the pressure release as Dean removed his fingers. He had no idea if it had worked, the pain from his torso was still screaming at him. Then Dean began stomping up and down, shouting and swearing. "GOT YOU, you mother-fucking evil son of a bitch! Take that and die you...little FUCKER!"

It was gone.

The little fucker was gone! Even if he bled out and died right now, at least that...thing wasn't inside him anymore.

Sam couldn't help but take in a solid breath, then began to choke as the blood that had pooled in his windpipe got sucked into his lungs. Every shuddering pant turned the gash in his abdomen into a burning fire.

Dean turned his struggling brother onto his side to let the excess blood run out of his mouth. Sam saw the remains of his broken little fucker lying near him on the floor. It wasn't much bigger than Dean's had been, but it was a lot more stomped on. He tried breathing again, through his nose, and this time it was a little easier.

"Stay there." Dean patted Sam's arm and was up on his feet, scrabbling around inside of somewhere. He came back holding a tube of Superglue. "Saw this when I was searching the room before. Hold still."

Dean was gentle as he expertly glued the incision shut. Then cut up the remaining bed sheets to wrap tight around the wound. It wasn't perfect by any means, and they both needed some serious hospital treatment, but they had bought themselves some more time at least.

"I found Cas." Blood bubbled through crimson-stained teeth as he spoke.

"Where? When?"

"Attic. Went to find him while you were taking a nap. He's stopped bleeding, I think the warding might not be so strong up there." He didn't voice his other worry. "But I don't know how to get him out without taking him back through the house."

"Then we find another way. In fact, I say we politely ask 'Sir Keith' to turn down the fucking warding altogether."

Sam matched Dean's feral grin, tooth for tooth.

"What happened to her?" Dean pointed to the dead woman lying halfway out the door.

"Me." After what they'd done to Cas, Sam wasn't sorry.

"You know that bitch was first in line to come give you a kicking when you went down? Might even have been the one that bust your lip."

"My lip's the least of what they've done. If you saw Cas…"

"They'll get theirs...Even if I die trying, I'll bring em down with me."

"Who are they? Didn't you say you got all the Men of Letters bar Haversham?"

"Trust me - we made sure to get every single Men of Letters name from the more cooperative ones we...spoke to. There was only like twelve of them. Apart from the kids they were training up."

"Kids? What?!"

"Teenagers. They were running some kind of evil brat training camp. Not anymore they aint." Dean smiled. "Boom!"

"You torched a school?!"

"Fancy house. No one was inside - they were away on exercises or something. I ran through the place twice to make sure."

"Training kids to be psychos." Sam whistled. "The British Men of Letters really are something else."

"Were, Sammy. Were. There's only one of em left."

"The guys downstairs are just hired help like Bill then? Or is he using his MOD government connections?"

"Don't know, don't care. Just wanna get down there, kick all the British ass and save Cas. Hey - all that ruckus we made before - you think they think we're dead by now?"

"Not sure we're that lucky."

"We're still alive ain't we?"

"Only fucking just..." Sam rubbed his stomach bandaging.

"Then we're still luckier than her…" Dean replied, pointing at the dead woman.


	26. Downstairs

Just barely holding each other up, they stumbled out of the bedroom, each armed with a shard of mirror and an expression that screamed _dont fuck with me._

Dean was impressed at how far Sam had made it down the hallway. And by the serious amount of staining damage he'd caused.

They inched down the stairs, slowly and painfully like two old men trying to escape their care home. Where upstairs was brightly lit, downstairs was so dim it looked like Haversham was trying to save the planet.

"Left or right?" Sam whispered.

"Left. That's the way we came earlier."

They shuffled down the poorly lit hallway, clinging onto the makeshift bandaging that was keeping their insides on the inside. Dean pointed at the door nearest to them. Sam nodded and twisted the door handle.

No one was there to immediately greet them. Sam ventured inside, eyes searching for anyone hiding in the shadows.

From behind him he heard an oomph followed by a clatter. Startled, Sam turned back to the corridor to see that either Simon or Bruce had come up behind them in the hallway and tackled Dean to the ground. Dean had dropped his mirror shard, shattering it, and the guy was on top of his brother as they wrestled with a knife.

Sam didn't hesitate. He plunged his own piece of glass deep into the guy's back. It sliced his fingers even further, but Sam was too hyped up with saving Dean for the pain to stop him. He tried to pull the shard out to stab him again but it was too firmly wedged in there. The end snapped off in Sam's hand, further cutting into his fingers. The guy stiffened in agonyand Dean took advantage of the moment to steal the knife straight out of his hands. Then stabbed him up through his neck with it.

Sam used one foot to kick the guy off Dean then carefully helped his brother up off the floor.

Dean slowly got to his feet, holding tight against his abdomen. He pulled the knife out of the dead man's neck then searched him for any other weapons.

"That'll do." He took a small gun from an ankle holster. Gave it to Sam who grimaced as he took it. The cuts on his hands were getting too deep and bloody. Any further and he wouldn't have any fingers left.

As far as Sam knew there were two guys left; Haversham and one other goon. God only knew when Bill and Gavin were going to come join the party - had to be soon though. And the Winchesters had to be ready; Gavin was like one of those banned dangerous dogs that viciously attacked anything and everything it sniffed at. Bit like a human hellhound, Sam thought.

Back into the empty dining room they crept. Sam went over to the dining table and stole a white cotton napkin that probably cost a small fortune. Dean tied it firmly around his brother's right hand while Sam kept them covered with the gun in his left. "What is it with you and cutting up your fingers?" Dean fussed.

Sam handed the gun back to Dean. No point in him having it when he couldn't even hold it.

With Dean on lookout, Sam went over to the sideboard. He opened the decanter stopper and sniffed. Brandy, after all. If this all ended with him not being dead, that bottle would be coming with him.

Whilst there he opened the sideboard doors.

"Dean...come look at this." Along with other various items, there had to be a dozen small glass bottles in there, all identical to the ones they'd been forced to drink.

Dean whistled. "Wonder how many people he's killed using those?"

"One is too many. We need to destroy every last bottle - as soon as we've dealt with Haversham."

They went out a different door to the one they'd come in. This led to the main entrance hallway and front door. The front door was oversize and intricately carved with symbols Sam didn't recognise. The curious research-geek inside him wanted to pull up a chair and spend the next three days studying the shit out of it.

One other room led off the tiled corridor, the door semi ajar. As they sneaked towards it, the brothers could hear talking coming from inside. Sounded like the remaining goon, Simon or Bruce was trying to persuade Haversham to leave.

" _Why? Everything is under control!"_

" _This address is getting too popular. With all due respect Dad, I don't believe you should have told those thugs to come here."_

The brothers looked at each other. Mouthed 'Dad'.

" _And with absolutely no respect due to you at all, everyone being in one place is the plan - that's what our industrial wood chipper is for after all!"_

" _This is all getting out of hand…"_ Simon whined.

" _Oh I wish it were more so. I want those Winchesters to suffer terribly. They've killed everyone, Simon! Everyone!"_

The next bit of conversation was muffled. Then Simon spoke again.

" _I'm going to check on Karen, make sure she's ok."_

" _Can't you leave your vacuous girlfriend alone for longer than ten minutes? You're like a pathetic puppy dog always trailing after her…"_

More muffled arguing. Sam and Dean used the time to slink back down the corridor to lie in wait for Simon.

"Hostage?" suggested Dean. Sam nodded in agreement. Having to barter for his son's life might mean the warding coming down that bit quicker.

They waited just out of sight behind the dining room door. Simon seemed distracted, didn't even notice the body of his fallen comrade until he'd slipped over the growing pool of blood then landed on the corpse. Shocked, he wrigged and fishtailed up with a squeak, then went silent as he saw Dean training the gun on him.

His lips wobbled like he wanted to say something then, stopped himself.

"Back to Daddy…" Dean waved the gun towards the way they'd just come. Simon meekly obeyed.

Dean indicated for Simon to enter the room first. Haversham Senior looked up in surprise at his son returning so quickly. Then frowned at the sight of the Winchesters following behind.

The office was a decent size and left no doubt this was a 'mans' space. Lots of dark solid oak furniture and chrome accessories. A large desk took center stage with the very tidy paperwork and the monitor/keyboard/mouse combo all exactly placed apart just so. Guy must use a damn ruler. There was a small couch on the left of the room, facing a wall-mounted TV.

"Sit." Dean growled at Simon, pointing to the couch. "And you, Pappa Psycho, come out from behind that desk and get comfy next to Junior. Don't know what kinds of surprises might be hidden behind there."

"It was always said that the Winchesters were like a bad bout of food poisoning. Just when you think you've finally finished vomiting, out comes another disappointing and unpleasant heave."

Simon's eyes were wide. "They killed Bruce Dad, don't antagonize them!"

The frown deepened, but Haversham complied. He didn't seem too put out at being squashed uncomfortably next to his son. Or at the news of Bruce's untimely demise. He had wider concerns.

"How are you both still alive?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Dean sneered.

"Yes, that is rather why I asked. You should both be mincemeat by now…"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Bit of minor surgery. Look Ma! No stitches!" He pulled up his shirt to show Haversham the bloody bandages.

"You...cut each other open?!" His mouth flapped open and closed in disbelief. Dean reckoned it took a lot to surprise him. And surprise him they had.

"Well you didn't give us much of a choice eh buddy? Option A: become meatloaf. Option B: risk infection, nicked arteries, bleeding out, yadda yadda yadda? Option B means I get to keep my promise and kill your ass."

Sam spoke. "But first, we want you to take down the warding."

"The...warding? Why would that be your pressing concern? I would have thought emergency surgery would have been more of a priority?"

"You don't know shit about us or our priorities. The warding - take it down now and maybe your neat and tidy office won't get redecorated with the inside of your son's head…"

Haversham seemed to ignore Dean's threat. "Is it the angel? It must be, why else would you be interested in it? It's not like you American hunters have any interest in the finesse of good spell work. My warding is one of a kind, state of the art, maximum level security. No, I do it a disservice, its more than that...it's art. Pure art. Demons react in a similar way to your friend upstairs, but much more quickly. Werewolves become...slug-like. And you should see what it does to a vampire. Poof! Instant disintegration."

"Dad!" Simon was looking at his father in dismay. "Fuck art! Fuck vampires! Tell them how to lose the damned warding!"

"Son, you aren't Men of Letters." He patted his son on the knee. Looked up at the Winchesters. "He isn't Men of Letters. He doesn't know the commitment it brings. The responsibility. The _duty_. Duty is _everything_. He won't understand why I cannot and will not help you in any way. Anyway, the angel is already as good as dead. And rightly so - they have no place being on Earth. Oh yes, that's right...it's thanks to you two they all fell, isn't it? Another way you...imbeciles...fucked up!"

Dean raised the gun to Simon's head. "Then here's this imbecile's reply." His hand was shaking with anger.

"Dad... _please_!"

"Dean - my own, personal feelings have nothing to do with my decision. So do what you feel you must. Simon - if it's any consolation at least it will be a quick death. Better than the rest of us can hope for."

Dean lowered his gun in distaste when Simon began to cry, gobbets of snot running down his wretched face.

"Oh fuck this. I need a drink." Dean thrust the gun into Sam's good hand and stormed out of the office.

Taken aback at Dean's unexpected walk out, Sam raised the gun up to Simon and lowered it again when he saw it was pointless. Haversham was sitting back on the couch, stiff but calm.

"And you compare us to food poisoning?" Sam looked at Haversham with disgust. "I'd sooner drown in my own puke, than have you as a father!"

Simon, in the throes of messy hysterics, looked as if he might bolt at any moment or grab the gun off Sam and shoot Haversham Senior himself. Sam took a step back nearer the door just to make sure he was out of reach.

It was hard not to feel a bit sorry for Simon. Until Sam remembered what he'd done to Cas. Any small amount of sympathy dissolved at the thought of Castiel suffocating on his own blood inside a plastic box.

Sam probed his busted lip with his tongue. It stung like a bastard. "So who was Bruce? A friend? Family?…" He didn't think anyone was going to answer, he was only killing time anyway, until Dean came back. And, if he was honest, purposely being a little antagonistic. But Simon spoke up, wiping his face down with a sleeve. "My girlfriend's brother. He… What have you done to Karen? She's ok, right?"

Sam shut the hell up asking any more questions. And he _definitely_ wasn't going to answer Simon's question. He could still see the look in Karen's eyes as he'd ruthlessly slit her throat. Haversham just shook his head at his son's naivety.

Where the fuck was Dean? Why choose now to go awol? Cas was dying, Bill and Gavin were due to arrive at any moment and the dizzy nausea from earlier was making itself known again. Five long minutes ticked past before he heard his brother's footsteps pacing back up towards them.

A calmer, and slightly drunker looking Dean kicked the door open with his foot, his hands were full with four generously filled glasses of brandy. He handed one to Sam, and then proffered one each to Simon and Haversham. Haversham looked baffled, then suspicious, but took his glass anyway. Simon was so shaken up by the situation he greedily drank the lot down in one go, slurping it like a child.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot." Dean was conciliatory. "You don't like our methods, we don't like yours. But our purpose is the same. Kill ghosts, demons, vampires and anything else that's a threat to humankind. And yeah, most angels are dicks - you won't ever hear us argue against that. Castiel tho? He's different. Not like the others. It's a shame you never got to see that, but we move in different circles, I guess, so that couldn't be helped." He took a sip of the brandy. Then another, more appreciative one. "This is good stuff. Sir Keith, you have no Men of Letters left in this country. If we kill you, that's it - you're done. And the good people of Britain are left unprotected. I don't want that, and I know you don't want that. So, I've got a proposition that none of us might like, but may be all that's left."

"Dean...what are you doing?" Sam was appalled. "We can't make a deal with this maniac!"

"Shut up Sammy - the grownups are talking." Dean never took his eyes off Haversham.

"What proposition?" Haversham leant forward but Dean couldn't tell if he was interested or about to attack.

Dean sipped the brandy again. "This is really good. What is it?"

"Very old, very expensive and not for the likes of you!" He knocked his back in two long swallows as if to make sure the uncouth American couldn't take more of his precious nectar. "So come on then, I'm all ears, what's the proposition?"

Dean smiled, finished off his drink and carefully clinked it down on the nearest table before answering: "You remove the warding, and I tell you which one of you just drank the XO I put in your brandy."

"...wh..what?" Haversham went pale. Simon clutched at his treacherous daddy's arm like he was three not thirty.

"You heard. Sammy, drink up bro, yours is fine."

Sam smiled. How could he have doubted Dean? His brother had just managed to trick a highly suspicious and intelligent Man of Letters into unwittingly swallowing his own doom. Sam took a sip of the brandy and it really was good. But even better was the look on Havershams face.

"Yeah. Added a special mixer to yours and Junior's. Well, to one of them anyway. The other is just regular ole water. Found these little glass bottles in a cupboard in your dining room, you see." Dean pulled an empty bottle out from a pocket and winked.

"You...you...What have you done?!" Haversham's cold composure was finally cracking.

"Given you a literal taste of your own medicine. Possibly." Dean shrugged. "Might not be you incubating your 'elegant' pet monster. That's the word you used, right? Whilst it was inside me? _Elegant_. It could be that magnificent specimen of a man over there who's gonna give birth to an elegant six pounder instead." Dean used the empty bottle to point at the shuddering, twitching wreck that had, not even two hours ago, gleefully helped to give Sam a kicking.

"I'm curious. Who are you hoping got to swallow it? You or your grown man-baby? See, most parents would take a bullet for their kid. But you…? I think you would sooner he…"

"Tell me!" Haversham interrupted, shouting far louder than he probably meant to. "Tell me who!"

Dean let the silence hang for a moment. "You know my terms." He leant back comfortably against the wall, like he had all day. "Best neither of you move around too much though. Just in case."

Haversham went rigid. "This...what you've done...this is pointless. The warding isn't something that can be turned on or off. Its built into the fabric of the building. _Literally_." Dean's smug smile dropped, but Haversham carried on "It's woven into the bricks and mortar. Into the structural frame. It's permanent, do you hear me? _Permanent_! Now, tell me who you...who did you…" He couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Who did I just murder?" Dean sneered. "Fuck you with bells on it." He turned away, then almost immediately turned back around again. "No, actually I _will_ tell you - but only once Cas - the angel you are currently killing as we speak - is safe. Which you just told me aint gonna happen so long as your house is standing. So you might want to sit tight and get good and comfy cos it'll probably take a while for me to knock the goddam crap out of this place."

"You...what? You're a lunatic! You can't do that!"

"I'm gonna do it, or die trying. You see - there's a difference between 'duty' and 'loyalty'. I hope your duty keeps you nice and warm as you sit perfectly still, whilst I loyally try and save my friend. Sam, help me tie these sons of bitches up."

Sam had spent two months without his brother - in fact doing his best to forget the fact he even had a brother. And he felt like the world's biggest idiot. Dean was the most loyal person alive, and Sam had been prepared to punish him for that. For being loyal to his dad. To his mom. And to him most of all. Maybe it was the brandy hitting his empty stomach or maybe it was the concussion messing with him, but Sam was overwhelmed with a fierce rush of love for his brother.

"Whatever you say bro, I'm here for you."

Dean wasn't expecting that. He faltered for a moment. Then forced himself back into Dean mode. "Careful Sammy, your man boobs'll start to grow with all that estrogen floating around your system."

"Oh fuck off," Sam laughed. And it felt good. Even as his insides felt like they were falling out and the pain from torn muscles burned, he felt good.

Until they heard the sound of a car pulling up onto the gravel path at the front of the house.


	27. Crash!

The light from the headlamps cast beams through the wooden blinds covering the office window. Dean leaped forward and poked a gap in the slats. "Two guys. I can only see silhouettes. Gotta be Bill and Gavin."

"Haversham - how did you tell them to come in? Front or back?" Sam asked.

Haversham refused to answer

"Conserving your energy huh? Wise idea. Once that thing grows large enough so you can feel it, it'll take all your willpower not to panic. Even good and tied up like you are, your heart will still race and your breathing will quicken...but what am I saying?...you know all this right? It's not like you haven't seen the results of this first hand. Sit tight guys - be back soon."

Sam didn't look back as he followed Dean out into the corridor.

"Split up and cover both entrances?"

"With one knife and one gun? No, we stick together."

The doorbell rang. A series of fancy chimes that didn't match the bloody corridor they were standing in. It rang again but no one was going to let them in.

"Ok. Back door then."

"Dean, wait up one second, I just need to know something...who did you give the XO to? Haversham, right?"

"No. Come on, let's keep moving." Dean stepped over Bruce's cooling corpse in the hallway.

"So it was Simon?" Sam was surprised.

"Nope, not him either." They reached the dining room.

"So what…? _Oh_ , you didn't put it in anyone's drink, did you?"

"Nope! You better believe they're gonna get ganked, but not like that. Yeesh." Dean shuddered and rubbed at his bandaging.

"So what was with the empty bottle?"

"I emptied out ALL the bottles. Sam, no one is ever gonna get one of those things put inside them again."

"That's… that's a good job Dean. What did you do with them?"

"In there for now." Dean pointed at a plain glass jug on the sideboard. "I didn't want to just flush it in case they got into the water system or something. Same with dumping it outside, I don't know enough about how the chemistry works. I kinda hoped maybe Cas would have an idea when he wakes up…"

"Yeah…" Seemed Dean was more optimistic about Cas's chances than he was. Then again, Dean hadn't seen the state of him in that attic.

They waited in the dining room the way Haversham had waited for them. Dean seated at the dining room table and Sam waiting to come up behind. It was a good six or seven minutes before the door finally creaked open enough for them to see to a shifty looking Bill peering in.

"Fellas! Come on in!" Dean beamed one of his most friendly smiles. He could afford to, the gun in his hand did most of the hard work.

"Aw fucking hell Bill!" Gavin was wet, sullen and once again, on the wrong side of a Winchester gun.

"I'd say it was good to see you again...but it really isn't." Sam strolled up and took the shotgun out of Gav's hand. Then took a pistol from the back of Bill's waistband. He went and sat down on one of the chairs, wincing at the sharp pain in his abdomen.

"Look, I'm gonna cut to the chase." Dean was playing it straight. "I know yesterday was a bad day for everyone, but today was supposed to get a whole lot worse for you. Apparently these guys have a wood chipper with your name on it. Ours too, in all honesty, but yours were also on the list"

Bill looked at him like he was speaking Chinese. "Why the fuck am I gonna listen to _you_?"

Dean shrugged. "Listen/don't listen, it's all the same to me. But we gotta work out what's coming next."

"What's coming next is we've got business, me and you. Serious business."

"About your friend Archie?"

"Of course about Archie! You butchered a man I've known for over thirty years, and you think I'm gonna forget something like that?"

"I know this is gonna sound like shit, but we didn't actually kill him…" Sam had to try.

Bill snorted like a bull. "How many times you wanna play me for a mug?"

"He died of a heart attack. That's the straight up truth. Wasn't anything to do with us."

" _Wasn't anything to do with you?_ So who was it chopped him up like a kebab then, the Tooth Fairy?"

"I'm not denying that bit." Dean said, holding his hands up. "I did it to show you we were serious. But only after he was already dead."

Bill turned to Gavin and exclaimed sarcastically. "Oh well that's alright then, aint it Gav?" He turned back to Dean, vigorously pointing a finger. "Fucking hell, you think waiting until after he was dead before slicing him up is gonna make any difference to me?"

Dean had to concede the point. "Yeah, no. Not really."

"Exactly. You've played me too many times for me to believe anything you say. But even if by some mad coincidence he did happen to drop dead in front of you, it doesn't change the fact you knifed the fuck out of his poor old body, does it?"

"No it doesn't. And for that, even though you kidnapped _and fucking tortured_ my brother, I'm gonna give you the gift of this unbelievably generous one-time only offer. Get back in your car and leave, now."

"Leave?" Bill was visibly getting madder. "Leave! We've only just got here son! I'll leave just as soon as you and your freaky brother are stuffed inside that wood chipper you mentioned."

"Don't you want to know where Haversham is?" Sam asked. "Why I'm the one holding a gun on you? _Again_?"

"Couldn't give two fucks about that fucker." Gavin spoke up, as articulate as always. "Don't give a shit where he is. You're the ones that fucked everything up for us. You!"

"Christ you're stupid." It was Dean's turn to get mad. "Probably one of the dumbest people I ever met. I'm giving you and your brother the very rare opportunity to leave here alive and you're turning me down?"

"Until I get my money back, and see you two fuckers turned into sausages, I ain't going nowhere."

"Well then we've got a problem, 'cause I haven't got time for this crap." Dean stood up, scraping his chair back against the polished wooden floor. "Sammy, either shoot em, or lock em up or do whatever the hell you want, I don't care."

"Um, what? Where are you going?"

"To knock the shit out of this house while there's still time. What'd you drive here in Bill?"

"Huh?"

"Your car? What is it?"

"The fuck you wanna know that for?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Just answer the damn question!"

"Ford Focus."

"It'll do. Keys, now."

"Not a chance!"

"Seriously? That's the hill you're willing to die on? A shitty-fucking car?" Dean was exasperated. "Look, I'll do a deal with you. Once this is all over, me and you - we can go at it. Man to man. I'll even let you get the first punch in, how's that?"

"When what is all over? What are you talking about?"

"I told you. I'm just about to demolish this house."

"Wait...are you _serious_? You want to take my car and what... _drive it into this house?_ The house we're standing in?" Bill was irate. "Not with my fucking Focus you aint!"

"I don't have time to argue this anymore." Dean came closer to Bill, touching the barrel of the shotgun right between Bill's eyes. "Key. Now." Dean stared him down like he was nothing but prey.

"Why the hell are you doing this?" Bill bitterly handed over a bunch of keys, spitefully digging them into Dean's palm.

"For reasons that, once again, you wouldn't begin to understand."

"It's not to do with that….that... _friend_ of yours is it?" Gavin looked around nervously. "He's not here, is he?"

"Yes, in fact he is. Which means you might want to start listening to me. Run. Now. Or stay and die."

Bill shifted uncomfortably. Dean patted him on the shoulder. "I swear it, me and you will get the opportunity to settle our scores later. But I've got to go." He didn't wait for an answer, just left Sam to deal with the two bewildered brothers.

"So...you want to stay inside the house, or go outside? Me...I'd rather not be in here when the place comes down." Sam turned to follow Dean, leaving the flustered Bill and Gav alone in the dining room.

Sam ran through the corridor in time to see Dean exiting the front door. The wind had picked up and drove rain inside the house. Sam shivered as he stepped outside.

The lights from the Focus came on as Dean started the engine and backed the car away to get a good run up at the house. Sam moved right, further onto the gravel path. He stood lit up in the car's beams, just outside the window where Haversham and his son were. Even through the rain and darkness, he could see Dean's pale face behind the wheel as he backed further and further away.

Sam was worried sick about what was coming next. The force needed to bust holes in a house by crashing a car into it wasn't exactly good for human health. Especially to one who had recently taken a beating and then had his abdomen carved open.

He clenched his fists as the Focus began to pick up speed. And it picked up quickly. Dean's foot must have been almost through the bottom of the car it was pressed so down hard.

Five long seconds later, with a horrendous bone-jarring smash, the front of the car hit the opposite side of the house to where he was standing. To those inside the house it must have sounded like a bomb.

"Dean!" Sam couldn't help but shout. Rain blinding his eyes, he ran over to the crash site. As soon as he reached the damaged car, it made a screeching noise of metal tearing, before beginning to back away again. The airbag must have gone off, but even so, Sam could see Dean bleeding heavily from his nose. "Dean!" He called again, but his brother had reversed well out of range by then. And no sooner was he out of range, then he began heading back again. Towards him!

Sam ran out of the way, towards the front door. Bill and Gavin were standing there now, gawking like they were at the circus, but Sam paid them no mind.

This time the crash was even louder. Bricks dropped from above the car and smoke billowed from underneath the crumpled hood. "Dean!" He called for a third time, as he ran to his brother.

A good portion of the front of the Ford Focus was now inside the house. Sam went straight to the driver's door and opened it. His brother was half unconscious, his seatbelt the only thing holding him upright. Sam clicked it open and dragged Dean out of the seat, laid him onto the wet driveway. The rain did a good job of bringing him round and washing away the blood that still poured from what looked like a broken nose. Nasty looking cuts to his chin and forehead also bled, and his eyes were already beginning to bruise.

"Dean, Jesus man...talk to me...are you ok?"

"Ow." Was the reply. Dean opened one eye and saw nothing of interest, so he closed it again. "I need a vacation."

Sam heard footsteps crunching from behind him and he swiveled, bringing up his gun.

"My fucking car!" Bill was horrified at the state of it.

"Is the insurance up to date?" Gavin croaked out.

"Not the point! Look at it!"

Goddammit Sam was tired. He stood up, eyes narrow. He could not give one fuck about their car. He was more concerned with his brother's injuries and the fact the house still wasn't destroyed enough.

"GO AWAY!" Sam was on the verge of panic and was not prepared to waste one more minute on these idiots. Without any warning he fired a shot, then several more, closer and closer to them as they began to run. They moved even faster as more bricks started to rain down.

"This isn't over you crazy fucking lunatic - we'll find you!" They'd reached the front gate and were standing out on the road, shouting.

"What-fucking-ever." Said Sam, already ignoring them.

He had to go back into the house and find the keys for the cars in the garage. What to do with Dean though? Inside the house wasn't exactly the safest place, but neither was him staying outside in the pouring rain with fuck-knows what injuries.

"Dean, I've got to go back in the house. Can you make it inside the garage?"

"I just wanna take a nap Sammy..."

"Not in the damn rain you jerk! C'mon, I'll help you."

He half carried, half dragged his brother through gravelly puddles, feeling the tear in his abdomen widening with every step. It wasn't far, but by the time Sam managed to drag Dean to the back of the dark garage, he was forced to admit that the wetness soaking the front of his sweater wasn't all rain. The sodden napkin-bandage around his right hand had fallen off into the mud somewhere along the way, and his fingers burned from deep inside. He could barely move them anymore.

Dean had half-passed out again. Sam left the shotgun in his arms. It was too dark to check how many rounds were left in his own pistol, but it couldn't be more than two. Maybe even less.

As he walked back up to the house, he realized that Haversham and his son couldn't stay inside the house either. Seeing as how he was planning on driving one of the cars directly at the wall they were behind.

Smoke from the damaged Focus filled the hallway, casting an even gloomier dinge. Sam went straight to Haversham's office. Both of them were still in there, exactly as he had left them. Sam took the knife and gritted his teeth in pain as cut the cloth from around their feet. "Up!" He said, waving the pistol with his left hand.

Haversham looked at him aghast. "You want us to move?"

"No choice. I'm sure you heard those massive bangs just now? Well I'm just about to drive another car into that that wall right behind you, and I'm sure you'd rather not be in the way?"

"You're destroying my home!"

"Yep. And I need the keys to the cars in your garage."

"No, no, not a chance! No, that's not going to happen!" Haversham appeared to have more anguish over his home and his cars than his son.

"If you force me to hotwire one with these fingers, then I'll leave you both in here to get crushed. You decide…"

Simon spoke up, throat raw. "Range Rover keys are probably in the top drawer of Dad's desk. I've got my Audi keys in my jeans." He half thrust a hip towards Sam. Sam figured he wasn't gonna be able to squeeze his torn fingers inside Simon's skinny jeans so he picked up the Range Rover keys. It was a big, heavy car, much better for what he had in mind.

"Ok, let's go." Slowly, Haversham and his son moved into the corridor. He recognized their careful, minimal movements, he'd been doing them himself an hour ago.

He had no proper plan for what to do with them once they were outside. Back of the Range Rover was as good a place as any, he supposed. If he had to be in the car, why not them too? Hell, they deserved a lot worse.

As they stepped out into the corridor, Sam thought Haversham might have a fit. Bill's Focus was partially inside the entrance hallway, a flat tire just nudging a small downstairs bathroom. One headlamp was somehow still working and it lit up the smoky hallway enough to show off all the damage. From in front of him, Sam saw Haversham falter at the sight of his ruined home and heard the deep intake of breath. But the man just about managed to keep it together.

Outside they went, into the rain. No one was wearing a coat or jacket, and the cold hit them all straight away. They staggered, shoulders hunched over as they reached the garage.

"Is there a light in here?" Sam asked. Simon nodded towards a switch on the left. As soon as he flipped it up, a string of fluorescent lights flickered on. A couple of moths immediately fluttered up towards the bright light.

Sam went to check out Dean, who was slumped in the corner, pretty much in the same position he'd been left in. His bruised face looked worse, way worse under the harsh lighting. A fresh wave of anxiety rolled over Sam. He knew from experience there was only so many times he could swallow that down before he couldn't deal anymore. _Keep working, and don't let Cas or Dean down_ , his inner voice admonished. He ran his good hand through his wet hair, scooping it out of his face to get a proper look at the cars.

The dark blue Range Rover Vogue SE was a luxury car. Definitely the nicest Sam had ever been in. Definitely not a car anyone would normally want to drive into a house at speed. It was also massive, the size of a small tank. He unlocked it, and forced the unsurprisingly reluctant Havershams into the back seat. Simon climbed in grudgingly, struggling with his wrists still tied behind him. Haversham took longer to persuade. It took a gun directly placed against his neck, and a lot of physical shoving on Sam's part, before he'd sit down.

"Hey, be grateful I'm buckling you in. More than you deserve."

"Oh just piss off."

"Nothing I would want more."

Sam slid into the driver's seat. As if sitting on the right didn't feel strange enough, the sheer opulence weirded him out more. The leather was soft, the wood trims expensive and the dash had more lights and buttons than an airplane. He pulled the belt buckle around him and pressed the engine start button.

Driving out of the garage, then reversing all the way up to the front gate was the easy part. Sam's gaze flicked up to the roof of the house, searching for the attic windows. The lights still shone up there, and Sam pictured Cas dying underneath them.

He took a couple of deep, steadying breaths and put the car into drive. Then pushed the accelerator down, hard. The Range Rover shot forward, much faster than he was expecting. Simon was babbling and crying and begging him to stop, which it didn't help Sam any.

The second before the car hit he took his hands off the wheel so as not to break his wrists, and tried to relax, trusting the airbag to do its job.

It did its job before Sam knew it had even hit him.

33mph. Not particularly fast when driving normally. And slow as fuck if you were on a freeway. But when hitting a house? Plenty fast enough.

The force of the impact was shocking enough to take his breath away. His head lurched forwards before the airbag punched him in the face, rocking it back again. The seatbelt crushed against his chest. But as soon as the car stopped he saw it was clearly going to take a second, or even third hit to break the warding. The damage he'd created wasn't as devastating as the hole Dean had made on his side of the house. And he'd be damned if he let his brother win.

Sam ignored the wailing and cursing from behind him as he threw the car into reverse, backing it up outside the gates that Bill had left wide open.

This time, as he curled his ragged fingers around the steering wheel, his heart pounded a lot harder. There was no airbag anymore. Nothing to stop him from smacking his head against the steering wheel.

Time slowed as he put the car into drive. He heard the engine roar in pleasure as he put his foot all the way down. He hadn't even been aware up to this moment that the radio was on, until the deep voice of Adele filled his ears. It made him think of Lara and so this time when they hit the house, he was smiling.


	28. Set fire to the rain

_I set fire to the rain  
Watched it pour as I touch your face  
Well, it burned while I cried  
'Cause I heard it screaming out your name, your name  
I set fire to the rain  
And I threw us into the flames  
When we fell, something died  
'Cause I knew that that was the last time, the last time, oh  
Oh, no  
Let it burn, oh  
Let it burn  
Let it burn_

 _Adele - Set Fire To The Rain_

A high-pitched whining noise was driving Sam crazy. He tried to ignore it but it stopped him from going back to sleep. It was a sharp, uncomfortable buzzing that was hurting his teeth. It even sounded like a dentist drill. Had Dean left the TV on? His head was pounding, and he couldn't remember where they'd gone the night before. Damn, he and Dean must have really tied one on.

 _Oh shit, I'm gonna throw up._ He opened his eyes so he could find his way to the nearest porcelain god, then saw he wasn't at a motel.

Or at the bunker.

Or even in a bed.

What the hell was he doing in a car?

Didn't matter. Need to hurl.

He fumbled with wet, swollen fingers to open the car door but couldn't get out - he was trapped. He began to panic until he realized he was wearing a seatbelt. Dizzily he unclipped it and managed to open the door. Then wondered why he was now lying on wet ground, looking up at grey clouds moving against a black sky. ' _What the…?'_ He must have fallen out of the car.

The urge to throw up passed as he lay still, letting the cold rain zing against his face. The piercing whistle inside his head receded to merely awful instead of severe.

The shivering wasn't good though.

' _Ok, work this out one step at a time. It's night. It's raining. I hurt all over and I feel sick. No, that doesn't narrow it down much.'_

Someone was screaming his name.

"Ok, ok…" he went to get up and was poleaxed by a deep and terrible pain from his midriff.

The weird confusion vanished instantly, and Sam knew straight away that the cut on his torso had ripped further open. Agony erupted from his belly as he writhed on the muddy gravel path, gasping and clutching at his stomach. "Shit, shit, shit" were the only legible words coming out of his mouth.

It took way, way too many minutes before he got the burning pain somewhere under control. The bandaging, now completely soaked through, was barely wrapped around him anymore. Infection and blood loss were a serious concern, not that he actually had any time be concerned about himself. He had to get up.

 _Had to._

He needed to know the state of the damage to the house. So he curled onto his side and lay still for a heartbeat, before rolling onto his shredded hands and knees. From there, he used the car to help him stand up. Christ he was dizzy. Like his concussion wasn't bad enough anyway, he'd had to go and give his brain another shake by crashing a car into a house. Twice.

Even though blurred vision, it was clear the entire window and frame was completely gone. The huge Range Rover was instead neatly wedged into the facade. It took a second for Sam to figure out it was the car keeping the upper part of the wall in place. That had to change.

With no joy whatsoever, he climbed unsteadily onto the driver's seat. The windscreen was cracked, but his face, reflected back to him from the crazed glass was worse. He took a closer look in the rear-view mirror and was shocked. His lip was busted before the crash, and now the rest of his features matched it. He had hit the steering wheel violently, his forehead had a two-inch gash running across it and he had to keep wiping the blood out of his eyes, now that the rain wasn't washing it away. His nose was just as broken as Dean's and three of his teeth were definitely wobbly. He thought he might have fractured his jaw too, the right-hand side was pulsing with shooting pains and beginning to swell.

With his torso too painful to twist around, he used the mirror to check on the Havershams behind him; he'd ignored them for long enough. It seemed passenger airbags had gone off in the back, so they didn't look anywhere near as bad as they could have. But having their arms behind them when they hit the wall must have really wrenched their shoulders. Especially the second time.

Simon was just crying and crying and Haversham was head down, quietly mumbling something to himself.

Sam shifted the transmission into reverse. He was truly amazed the battered car was still running. If he ever won the lottery he'd have to think about getting himself a Range Rover. They weren't just pretty, they could walk the walk.

"Don't do it again, please don't!" Simon started to wail louder.

Sam also really, _really_ hoped he wouldn't have to do it again.

He stopped backing the car up about two feet away from the house. A good-sized chunk of brick and blocks rained down. It quickly became a cascade as more bricks followed. The house made a tormented groaning noise and Sam knew exactly how it felt.

Then a strange sensation washed over him. Similar to the sound of a bag of potato chips popping open, but it was a sensation he felt in his hair follicles rather than heard with his ears. It made his skin feel oily and his lungs tighten. Then it was gone, the pressure releasing like a bubble bursting. It was followed up by a wet scream that sounded as if it was coming from right behind him.

He'd...he'd actually destroyed the warding.

Sam let go of the steering wheel, leaning his throbbing right hand against his chest, and his hot forehead against the cold driver's window. Whatever happened now, he knew he'd done his best for Castiel and Dean. He could have cried in relief. Might even have done so, if the door hadn't been flung open and a hand hadn't grabbed him by the neck, physically throwing him out of the car.

He landed hard on the gravel path, instinctively curling inwards as agony radiated from his riven torso. He barely noticed the kicks to his back or head, he was already so overloaded with pain.

He didn't, couldn't resist as he felt himself being dragged towards the listing house.

This time when he jolted awake, Sam knew where he was straight away. Back in Haversham's tidy little dining room. He was lying on his side on the floor, Dean next him.

"Dean..." Sam whispered. Then cried out as his broken face spiked in pain.

"S'ok Sammy…" Dean was there. Barely. But there.

A foot shoved his shoulder down forcing Sam onto his back. He cried out in pain again, unable to stop himself. Above him was Haversham. Or something that once looked like Haversham.

" _What the…?_ " Sam would've immediately backed the hell away if he'd been able.

The man that stood over him was coated from head to toe in a thick film of blood. His eyes were completely bloodshot, no whites remaining at all. Plus, he appeared to have lost thirty pounds from his already slim body and his suit shirt and trousers hung wetly and loosely against his bones. He was also panting like he'd run a fast marathon.

"What did you do..?" Sam asked, a cold burst of fear switched places with the pain, for a moment.

"You don't back a Tiger into a corner, Sam. Everyone knows that..."

"What did you do?" Sam asked again.

"Something...terrible."

" _What. Did. You. Do?_ " Sam was scared. Really scared.

"I used a one-shot, zero-hour spell I learned many years ago from a demon-fucking whore witch."

Haversham's foot left Sam's shoulder. He disappeared as he walked around the other side of the table. Sam took the moment to glance over at Dean and they both frowned as a fresh clatter of masonry rained down from somewhere upstairs, reminding them the house was in the process of falling down.

Haversham re-entered Sam's vision. He was doing a bad job of wiping his face down with one of the white cotton napkins. "I'd always avoided invoking the spell as I was told it shortens one's life expectancy by about fifteen years. But, trapped in my car and watching my house being destroyed, I finally thought the trade was worth taking. After all, there was a fifty-fifty chance I was going to die anyway thanks to the XO."

Haversham knelt down close to Sam, blood dripping down from his hair onto Sam's upturned face. "But...you see, that's not all the invocation took from me." His breathing was still too fast, and Sam could smell something foul as he spoke. "In order to cast it I needed to make a blood sacrifice. One very similar, in fact, to the spell work that kept you behind our cell door all those weeks ago. So I offered up my firstborn son - my only son - in exchange for his life force. I figured what the hell, he also had a fifty-fifty chance from the XO."

"You...killed Simon?!" Sam remembered the short scream that had sounded like it was coming from behind him in the car, just after the warding came down.

"No, _you_ did." Haversham spat. "Or would have, anyway." He stood back up, knees creaking loudly. "As soon as I took on all of that power I was connected within myself. I searched every vein and muscle internally and I saw the XO wasn't inside of me. Therefore, it was inside of Simon. Had I not sacrificed him, he would have died anyway."

"No! No, he wouldn't have!" Although it hurt like a bitch to talk, Sam couldn't stop the words from spilling out. "There was no XO in you, in either of you; we just said it to keep you quiet. It was you that killed Simon... _you_!"

Haversham grimaced, his features twisting into something abnormal. He roared, lashing out at Sam, kicking him squarely in the face. Sam's scream was raw as teeth flew and broken bones crunched.

Time wavered, flaring in and out in tune with Sam's consciousness. Inky-black nausea gave rise to burning torment, before sinking back to darkness again. Minutes, maybe hours passed before somewhere underneath all the pain he realized Dean's fingers were gripped around his right wrist, nails urgently digging in to his skin. The close contact was enough to force Sam back to reality. He wobbled his wrist a couple of times to let Dean know he was mostly awake.

Haversham was seated at the table, sucking on a brandy like he was dying of thirst. Plaster dust from the failing ceiling above him stuck to the blood in his hair. He'd turned his chair towards the Winchesters to better look down on them.

"You killed my son. Shortened my life. Destroyed my car, and my house, and worst of all...you completely annihilated the British Men of Letters, leaving 65 million British subjects at terrible risk. I genuinely do not know how I am going to make you both pay for all that. I mean, I'll try, but no amount of your suffering can undo the damage you've done."

"How 'bout if we say sorry?" Dean slurred. "You think that might help?"

Sam snorted, then regretted it immediately as the broken bones in face jarred together.

Haversham drank again, unnaturally thirsty.

"What did that spell do to you?" Dean asked. "You don't look right."

"All sorts of horrid things I should imagine. But it was worth it, so long as I outlive you two bastards."

"Well none of us bastards are gonna live long if we stay inside this house."

"Nonsense, this house was solidly built. I'll more than take the risk."

"Good for you." Sam felt Dean stir beside him. "Cause I fucking won't." Dean, somehow, dragged himself over to the nearest chair and drunkenly used it stand. "Come on Sammy, let's go get Cas then blow this joint."

Sam coughed out another small laugh. Still lying on his back, he bent his knees, sliding his boots against the floor. Two fairly feeble efforts took him as far as the nearest wall. The gauge on his fuel tank dropped to E, then sunk to _'now you're just taking the piss_ ' as he got halfway upright. So he sat back down and tried to convince himself that the wall he was leaning against wasn't tilting at a strange angle.

Dean's bravado fizzled out just as quickly. He fell into the chair, breathing ragged and wet sounding.

Haversham sat back, watching them struggle. Enjoying them struggle.

The Winchesters were fucked, and they all knew it.

"What you said about leaving people unprotected. What about the Government? Those Ministry of Defense people you work with?" Dean's curiosity was sincere. "Don't any of them know about the...supernatural side of things?"

"Of course they don't!" Haversham scolded. "Does yours?"

"Um. No, good point."

"Governments are worse than useless. Dangerous even. And yours more than most. Your President Rooney is more concerned with getting his end away than tangling with ghosts and demons." Haversham thirstily took several more gulps from his glass. "I hear he's even got an aide pregnant, quite the scandal."

"I wouldn't know – I don't go much for politics."

"Color me surprised." Haversham raised one eyebrow in derision.

"Yup - a hot bartender and a cold beer are more my thing."

Sam noticed something in Dean's demeanor change. It was subtle, just a shift in the shoulders, a change of tone in his voice that no one but Sam would have noticed. His heart quickened.

"Just so you know, I never planned on leaving the UK without anyone to deal with all the nasties that are gonna come running once they find out you're all dead. I'll make sure to send some hunters over, give 'em an all expenses paid."

" _American hunters?!_ " Haversham quickly stood up, raging. If anything was going to send him over the edge, it seemed that was the killer blow. " _American hunters?!"_ He yelled again. Haversham took a powerful swing at Dean. Punched him hard enough to send him rolling off the chair and onto the floor.

" _Those apes_ come _here?! Over my dead body!"_

Dean spat out a gobbet of blood. "In case you hadn't noticed, we're already here. And yeah, I will be the one standing over your shriveled up old carcass."

Haversham launched into Dean again, this time with his feet. Dean cowered, withstanding the blows until Haversham stopped abruptly.

"Oh, oh! Yes…very clever...I see what you're doing...but your attempts to rile me into giving you a quick death won't work."

"Yeah, that's what I'm doing, provoking you to kill us. You saw right through my clever plot." Dean rolled his eyes as Haversham didn't pick up on the sarcasm. Dean looked at Sam. "Can you believe this guy?"

Unable to open his mouth properly to talk, Sam just shook his head.

"Hey, your almighty Sir Keithness - you finished guzzling that jug of water all by yourself? Doesn't look like anything left but dust and empty air."

Sam's gaze shot towards the table.

Haversham mistook Sam's sudden interest in the jug. "Why, are you boys getting thirsty? I bet you are. Well tough, you won't get a drop of water from me, so suffer! Anyway, you won't live long enough to die of thirst. I've other, more horrific ways to kill you both."

"I'll you what's a horrific way to die…" Dean smiled. "The way you're gonna."

Sam used the adrenaline spike to raise himself to his feet, clumsily, like a newborn giraffe. He needed, desperately, to see what Dean had.

It was true. The glass that Sam had wrongly assumed was filled with brandy, was on the table, right next to the jug that Dean had emptied all the Little Fuckers into. And that self-same jug was now empty.

If Sam had been able to laugh, he would have. Hard and deep and with great pleasure.

Dean had baited Haversham alright. To get him to move and to activate the growth of at least a dozen XOs.

Dean carried on. "You know what's coming next is on you right? If you hadn't taken my brother and killed my mom, none of this would've happened."

"What are you talking about? What's coming next is your ghastly death, not mine!"

Clutching onto his stomach, Dean awkwardly forced himself up off the floor and back into the chair. His breathing was shallow and fast. "If you believe that's true then can you do me the honor of fulfilling the last wish of a dying man? Open your cupboard doors, there." He pointed over at the sideboard.

"What…why?" Even through his giddy haze of power, Haversham couldn't help but notice Dean's confidence.

"Just do it already."

To Sam's amazement, Haversham actually did go over to the sideboard. And opened the doors. Dozens of hastily put away glass bottles spilled out and clattered to the floor.

"What the… _what have you done_ …?" Underneath the sticky crimson film that still coated his face, Sam saw Haversham's face go pale.

"Figure it out. But don't take too long! And I'd sit reeeaaal still whilst you do it…."

"No. No, no, no." As much as Haversham protested, Sam could see the cogs inside his brain working it out. There hadn't been a jug of water in the dining room earlier. He knew there hadn't. And now…

"No, no, no…it's another bluff."

"I'm all out of bluffs. Used too many of them in the last couple of days and I've run dry."

"I don't believe you!"

"Yeah you do. You're already dead and you know it."

Haversham took a final moment to absorb the words. "In that case, I'll damn well make sure you die first!"

He rushed Dean. Dean was expecting it and threw himself sideways, falling out of his chair. Haversham's angry attack was wild, giving Dean a chance to back away from the raging man. Not that there was anywhere to go; the living room was fairly small and Dean was weakening by the minute anyway. So he made a last stand in front of Sam, determined to protect his little brother to the end.

Haversham grabbed Dean by the neck. Dean kicked out and missed. Tried again and caught a knee. Haversham didn't even seem to notice, he was so intent on throttling Dean. He tried again, this time catching Haversham in the balls. This Haversham _did_ notice. "Bastard!" He shouted, before throwing Dean to the floor. Dean gasped for breath, but the damage was done – his chest was fucked before – but now he could barely get any air at all.

Haversham raged on.

Dean backed away, shuffling and wheezing. He might not be able breathe, but he _could_ smile – that particular cocky, self-assured grin that he knew annoyed Sam so much, and would annoy Haversham even more. He was enticing Haversham to follow him. To use more energy.

Haversham obliged, too far gone with crazy to see what Dean was doing. With those three steps forward, the many, many XO's grew and ate and expanded some more, creating a vicious circle. So many of them, all at the same time, fought to suck on Haversham's energy like a litter of newborn piglets. As they moved and grew and jostled for space, they caused more movement, and more energy use. Which meant they fed more, which meant they grew more.

It happened scarily fast. By the time Haversham's left foot had hit the floor on his third step towards Dean, the first of the XO's ripped its way out of its host's neck with a spray of blood that reached as far as Sam. The next one used the same hole to escape, but numbers three, four and five each found their own way out. By number seven, Haversham had dropped to the floor and wasn't moving. Well, _he_ wasn't moving, but the remaining XO's were – Sam could see the final few wriggling around underneath Haversham's chest.

He and Dean looked at each other. Broken, bloody and halfway to dying themselves, they had somehow managed to outlive the last British Man of Letters.

Their next problem was the dozen or so baseball-sized Little Fuckers that were scratching and clawing their way towards them.


	29. Final chapter

**Final chapter!**

Like something out of a nightmare, there was no escaping the swarm of spiky metal balls as they crawled steadily on towards the exhausted Winchesters.

The first one reached Sam's right leg. He just managed to scrape it off with his left boot, when a second one began cutting in to his ankle, slicing as easily as a chainsaw through butter.

Sam cried through gritted teeth as a couple more began to attack his knee cap, prizing it open like they were shucking oysters. Blood loss, shock and an overflowing shit-bucket of trauma were finally taking hold; his body began to shake uncontrollably. Goddamn it, he'd survived two vicious encounters with these Little Fuckers, but the third was the one that would see him off.

He looked over at his brother. Still unable to breathe, Dean was barely fighting off his own spiny horde. Sam's heart ached to see the fight going out of his usually hot-blooded brother.

He reached out with his left hand, trying to grab hold of Dean for one last bit of contact before their gruesome end. As he did so, the one crawling up his arm began to convulse, spikes twitching a strange dance before disintegrating.

He looked around, confused. Was he hallucinating? No...no, they were all doing it...all the Little Fuckers were losing their spikes and flaking into a metallic dust. _What the hell?_

Almost on the edge of passing out, Sam struggled and squinted to see what was happening.

There, entering the dining room like the boss of all bosses was _oh-my-god-thank-god_ Castiel! This time Sam actually did shed a tear in relief. With wet, blurry vision he saw an orange glow radiating from Cas's body and his normally blue eyes shone yellow-gold. He was hard to look at, the color and intensity was ferocious.

Sam shielded his face against the brightness as Cas came closer. "D…." he was trying to speak, to ask Cas to help Dean, but his jaw wouldn't move. Cas reached down and the luminous glow covered Sam like a soft, warm blanket. He could feel the bones in his face painlessly knitting back together. The intense throbbing in his torso, the gouges in his fingers, his sickening concussion, they all receded as the healing light touched them.

As soon as Sam was able to move, he urgently grabbed hold of Cas's arm. "Help Dean...he can't breathe!"

Tendrils of orange flame curled away from Sam as Cas immediately stepped over to Dean.

As soon as Castiel touched Dean's chest, his brother took a shuddering deep breath. It took sixty more seconds of glow time before Dean was able to jump to his feet and hug the angel in a fierce death grip.

"Cas...how?" Dean asked, as the angel tried to untangle himself.

"You were all but dead!" Sam said. Cas was still hard to look at, but Sam could get over his eyes watering - he'd never been so glad to see anyone in his life.

"I was very near death," Cas agreed. "If I'd been kept anywhere but the roof space, or if the warding had held for much longer…"

"How are you so ok? And what's with the orange?" Dean asked, waving a finger around Cas. Cas looked down, noticing for the first time the strange aura radiating from him.

"This isn't easy for me to say." Cas looked deeply upset. Messing with the fundamental essence of an angel was a gross violation. "The warding toxified my grace, causing my body to expel it. The spell work then converted the extract into some kind of power and absorbed it, _storing_ it. Used it like a battery it to strengthen itself. And not just _my_ grace - two other angels died here; I was told that Haversham lured one from Heaven every couple of decades to keep the house charged."

"Bastard." Dean had no love for most angels, but Haversham's actions went beyond the pale.

"Agreed," said Cas, staring down at Haversham's mangled body with loathing.

"So how did you heal yourself?" Asked Sam. "And us?"

"With almost miraculous luck."

"Bout time we had some!" Interrupted Dean.

"When the warding ruptured, there was a pressure discharge of the stored power which passed through me as it diffused. I absorbed my grace back, plus obtained a bit extra." He pointed to the coral glow "But the excess will fade quickly."

A loud crunching noise from upstairs made them all jump. Puffs of brick dust pattered down in a fine rain.

"Oh shit, we really need to go."

The front of the doomed house was tilting badly enough that the front door had come away from its ornate frame. They stepped over it and out into the rain.

Sam took a good lungful of fresh air, enjoying the sensation of the rain on his face. Being pain free - and safe - for the first time in hours was sheer bliss.

Cas stared at the two giant holes in the walls. "You used a car to break the warding?" He said, pointing at the Ford Focus still half-embedded in the wall. "No wonder your injuries were severe."

"Yep!" Sam answered proudly. "Mine was the Range Rover. Look at the size of the hole it made!"

"Show-off," said Dean." Size ain't everything."

"Lucky for you," replied Sam.

"Bitch," said Dean.

"Oh, not this already!" muttered Cas, shaking his head.

"Yep! This already!" said Sam, laughing, half-drunk with relief. He looked at his brother and his fluorescent best friend. Not twenty minutes ago all three of them were close to death. And now? Dean was furiously trying to persuade Cas that the damage to the Focus was far more impressive than to the Range Rover. Cas was trying to look all fascinated, but Sam could see he wasn't really getting it.

He took one more moment savoring the outcome. They'd done what they set out to do and it was all over.

They could go home.

 _Home_.

Sam couldn't wait.

So folks, that's it! A happy ending for everyone, yay! (Except for most of the bad guys of course!)

Is there anything else you guys would like me to add as an epilogue? Dean's mano a mano with Bill? Sam's soppy goodbye with Lara? Anything else? Xx


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